Football is brutish. This is from someone who trained Brazilian jiu-jitsu.
I went to high school in Texas. Every Monday, there would be at least two guys with a new set of crutches. My debate partner got slammed. When he got out of the hospital, he had metal up his right leg and was banned from ever playing football again. My cousin still deals with debilitating back pain.
But when I was in high school, I did go to Friday night football games. Not that I was into football. The first couple times I went, it was to see my older cousins playing. Then, my classmates. Not really my friends. Because my friends were all nerds and didn't play football. I had friends in the band. Actually, my friends wouldn't go to football games. I was kind of strange in that sense. Having grown up in the same neighborhood my entire life, I actually did know some people out of my high school nerd clique, like friends from Girl Scouts in elementary school or my junior high volleyball and track mates. So I would find someone to hang with. And there was something fun about being outside in the fall air. I liked that it was multi-generational: parents, adults. I would make the rounds, shmoozing it up with people of all ages and cliques.
But I hated football. It was an evil--that should be banned. When one guy was down and the trainers ran out to the field, my friend who had just moved from a small town in East Texas got pissed, "Those cheerleaders should be down on their knees praying." We were slightly more progressive (in terms of separating church and state) in Katy.
It was always the same routine. I'd stand next to someone, sometimes a boy I liked, and I would ask how the game works, kind of playing dumb, but not really "playing" because I always had the same conversation, and I never really paid attention enough to learn how the game worked. Something about 4 downs.
I learned a little better when I played Powder Puff my junior year. It was a source of amusement in Texas to watch girls play football. Every year, the Juniors played the Seniors. The football players of our respective classes coached us. Practices started about a month before the game. These same guys would dress as cheerleaders for the game, and come up with funny cheers. It was all gender-bender.
Yeah, I was offended as a woman, that we were the "butt" of the joke. But I wasn't as offended as a real football game. There were no major injuries during our games. And I personally didn't feel like I was risking injury. I was a running back. I never really had to learn the game either, just run and try to catch the ball and take it to the endzone without getting tackled or throw it to a team mate before getting tackled. That's all I needed to know.
So the question comes down to: Is brutality a fundamental aspect of the game? Or could protections, regulations, and some rule changing make it more . . . responsible?"
According to a recent article in The New Yorker "Offensive Play" by Malcolm Gladwell, it is inherent to the game. Players experience the equivalent of multiple head-on auto collisions every practice. They experience depression and loss of motor control as a result of their head injuries later in their lives.
"In 1905, President Theodore Roosevelt called an emergency summit at the White House, alarmed, as the historian John Sayle Watterson writes, “that the brutality of the prize ring had invaded college football and might end up destroying it.” Columbia University dropped the sport entirely. A professor at the University of Chicago called it a “boy-killing, man-mutilating, money-making, education-prostituting, gladiatorial sport.” In December of 1905, the presidents of twelve prominent colleges met in New York and came within one vote of abolishing the game. But the main objection at the time was to a style of play—densely and dangerously packed offensive strategies—that, it turns out, could be largely corrected with rule changes, like the legalization of the forward pass and the doubling of the first-down distance from five yards to ten. Today, when we consider subtler and more insidious forms of injury, it’s far from clear whether the problem is the style of play or the play itself."
Should there be legislation? Regulation? Should the government step in? Most people and any libertarian would claim that every citizen should be able to spend her money and risk her life how she pleases, as long as she doesn't harm anyone else. The free market should be able to do its thing. But the free market must be regulated--to stop rich people from stealing from poor people--either through exploitation, i.e. not paying a living wage, or practicing fraud, i.e. Wall Street.
Is stealing the health and life from grown men who choose to play football a form of exploitation or fraud? That is the question.
February 15, 2010
The Lesbian Salsa Bar
I was forced to go to the edge of my comfort zone recently.
I like to pride myself on the fact that I can enter most situations, especially involving people of different cultures, skin colors, and socio-economic class backgrounds, and feel completely at ease. Working in the hood where rumors of wild teenagers running loose who could potentially slash my face to get initiated into their gang doesn't bother me. I don't fear "the other."
And yet, I was standing in the lesbian salsa bar unsure of myself. The music was good. I wanted to dance, but I was scared. . .What if one of the women saw me and asked me to dance? Then I would be false advertising. So I decided not to dance. In fact, I moved closer to the male friend who brought me there.
And so what happened? . . . Nothing. A lady came up to my blond friend and kept trying to get her to dance. And she was awful (none of the native rhythm that flows naturally from my Latina blood. . . !)
Ultimamente, no one came up to me. At the beginning, I was so concerned of a misunderstanding and maybe offending someone, and in the end it was just an experience of rejection. No Latina lesbians wanted to dance with me.
I later asked one of the women the protocol. Here it is: If someone asks you to dance, then if you feel like it, dance with her. You don't have to tell her you're straight. I mean, why are you assuming she wants anything with you anyways? And then if later, she starts to push it a little, then you can tell her you're straight. No problem.
As usual, I was making a big deal out of nothing.
I like to pride myself on the fact that I can enter most situations, especially involving people of different cultures, skin colors, and socio-economic class backgrounds, and feel completely at ease. Working in the hood where rumors of wild teenagers running loose who could potentially slash my face to get initiated into their gang doesn't bother me. I don't fear "the other."
And yet, I was standing in the lesbian salsa bar unsure of myself. The music was good. I wanted to dance, but I was scared. . .What if one of the women saw me and asked me to dance? Then I would be false advertising. So I decided not to dance. In fact, I moved closer to the male friend who brought me there.
And so what happened? . . . Nothing. A lady came up to my blond friend and kept trying to get her to dance. And she was awful (none of the native rhythm that flows naturally from my Latina blood. . . !)
Ultimamente, no one came up to me. At the beginning, I was so concerned of a misunderstanding and maybe offending someone, and in the end it was just an experience of rejection. No Latina lesbians wanted to dance with me.
I later asked one of the women the protocol. Here it is: If someone asks you to dance, then if you feel like it, dance with her. You don't have to tell her you're straight. I mean, why are you assuming she wants anything with you anyways? And then if later, she starts to push it a little, then you can tell her you're straight. No problem.
As usual, I was making a big deal out of nothing.
Lentils
1)Dump a package of lentils (any color or type) into a big pot. Sort through them looking for rocks. Don't be lazy! You should find at least one.
2) Fill the pot with water covering the lentils, mix it with your hand, and then rinse out the water. Repeat twice.
3) Fill the pot with water. Put it on the stove and set the burner on high.
4) Cut up a whole onion, some garlic, carrots, and celery. Chop them big or small, according to your preference. They will be very soft and mushy at the end.
5) Let the lentils come to a boil. Keep sloughing off the nasty foam that forms on the top.
6) When it stops making that foam, throw in the chopped vegetables.
7) After about 20 minutes, the lentils should be soft. Add white vinegar and soy sauce. Add water to keep them watery, or stop adding water if you don't want it soupy. Make it as liquidy as you like.
8) Add a lot of cumin, a good amount of curry powder, some chili powder, some black pepper, and some cinnamon. Add spicy peppers and chili. Again, the amounts are to your taste. Raisins are great, as well as dried cranberries.
9) Try it to see if the salt is right, if not, add vinegar, soy sauce, or salt.
2) Fill the pot with water covering the lentils, mix it with your hand, and then rinse out the water. Repeat twice.
3) Fill the pot with water. Put it on the stove and set the burner on high.
4) Cut up a whole onion, some garlic, carrots, and celery. Chop them big or small, according to your preference. They will be very soft and mushy at the end.
5) Let the lentils come to a boil. Keep sloughing off the nasty foam that forms on the top.
6) When it stops making that foam, throw in the chopped vegetables.
7) After about 20 minutes, the lentils should be soft. Add white vinegar and soy sauce. Add water to keep them watery, or stop adding water if you don't want it soupy. Make it as liquidy as you like.
8) Add a lot of cumin, a good amount of curry powder, some chili powder, some black pepper, and some cinnamon. Add spicy peppers and chili. Again, the amounts are to your taste. Raisins are great, as well as dried cranberries.
9) Try it to see if the salt is right, if not, add vinegar, soy sauce, or salt.
Apocalypto (Movie Review)
Some Social Studies teacher is going to show Apocalypto when she discusses the Aztec civilization. (Or maybe the Mayan. . . Mel Gibson doesn't really clarify in the movie.) It will be that scene on top of the pyramid (probably in Tenochtitlan, close to the present-day capital of Mexico City) that shows the priests sacrificing humans to appease their gods.
As we all know, the Aztecs participated in religious rituals of human sacrifice. Some of us also know that it was a great civilization that made many advances in science and astronomy. But you would never get that from the movie. The characters in this movie (the Mayan/Aztecs) are violent and savage. They paint and tattoo and pierce themselves in freakish ways, and blood spurts out of their head. Nowhere in this movie would Mexicans feel proud of their heritage.
The movie opens with the quote: "A great civilization is not conquered from without until it has destroyed itself from within."--W. Durant
So the natives are savages, and European aren't to be blamed for being marauding, imperialist thieves and murderers. The textbooks also support this position. They discuss how the Aztecs were an imperialistic power. When the Spanish arrived, it was easy for them to ally with local groups who had long held grievances towards their Aztec conquerors. Therefore, according to textbooks, W. Durant, and Mel Gibson, Europeans should be taken off the hook.
So should the teacher be fired?
I might actually show it in my class, to show how racist American cinema is and how media maintains power structures in society through reinforcing racial stereotypes. As a media literacy lesson, I might show this piece of trash.
As we all know, the Aztecs participated in religious rituals of human sacrifice. Some of us also know that it was a great civilization that made many advances in science and astronomy. But you would never get that from the movie. The characters in this movie (the Mayan/Aztecs) are violent and savage. They paint and tattoo and pierce themselves in freakish ways, and blood spurts out of their head. Nowhere in this movie would Mexicans feel proud of their heritage.
The movie opens with the quote: "A great civilization is not conquered from without until it has destroyed itself from within."--W. Durant
So the natives are savages, and European aren't to be blamed for being marauding, imperialist thieves and murderers. The textbooks also support this position. They discuss how the Aztecs were an imperialistic power. When the Spanish arrived, it was easy for them to ally with local groups who had long held grievances towards their Aztec conquerors. Therefore, according to textbooks, W. Durant, and Mel Gibson, Europeans should be taken off the hook.
So should the teacher be fired?
I might actually show it in my class, to show how racist American cinema is and how media maintains power structures in society through reinforcing racial stereotypes. As a media literacy lesson, I might show this piece of trash.
December 22, 2009
Top 5 Christmas Songs
1. O Holy Night by Celine Dion or Trinity Church Choir
2. Do You Hear What I Hear?
Whitney Houston's "Do You Hear What I Hear?"
3. The Carol of the Bells
4. The Holly and the Ivy
5. Little Drummer Boy
6. O Come All Ye Faithful
2. Do You Hear What I Hear?
Whitney Houston's "Do You Hear What I Hear?"
3. The Carol of the Bells
4. The Holly and the Ivy
5. Little Drummer Boy
6. O Come All Ye Faithful
October 18, 2009
A small success
When I first started teaching, my former AP US History teacher told me to always remember the small successes.
With all the crap and foolishness that is my classroom, on Friday we had a moment. A student threw his trash to the basket and missed.
Of course, this violated 2 classroom rules:
1) No throwing things.
2) Wait until the end of class to throw things away.
He missed and someone asked if he was going to put it in the bin. "That's the janitor's job," he responded.
So even though this conversation had nothing to do with the lesson on City States in Mesopotamia, I asked, "Hmmm. Does anyone have a problem with that?"
And two girls schooled him, about respecting people, no matter what their job. They didn't get so much into the personal responsibility aspects. I had just explained the homework which was to compare the social hierarchy in ancient Sumer to our society today. Ironic.
In the end, he caved. "Okay, okay." He muttered as he picked up the trash he threw, and put it in the waste basket.
With all the crap and foolishness that is my classroom, on Friday we had a moment. A student threw his trash to the basket and missed.
Of course, this violated 2 classroom rules:
1) No throwing things.
2) Wait until the end of class to throw things away.
He missed and someone asked if he was going to put it in the bin. "That's the janitor's job," he responded.
So even though this conversation had nothing to do with the lesson on City States in Mesopotamia, I asked, "Hmmm. Does anyone have a problem with that?"
And two girls schooled him, about respecting people, no matter what their job. They didn't get so much into the personal responsibility aspects. I had just explained the homework which was to compare the social hierarchy in ancient Sumer to our society today. Ironic.
In the end, he caved. "Okay, okay." He muttered as he picked up the trash he threw, and put it in the waste basket.
September 3, 2009
Eat, Pray, Love
If you can get past Elizabeth Gilbert's self-absorption and pretentiousness, in your eagerness to discover (what are expected/promised) profound insights, interesting cultural revelations, or even any meaningful personal confrontation or transformation, you will find them all sorely missing.I actually couldn't finish it.
August 11, 2009
In Colbert's Studio Audience
The burning question: Would Steven Colbert be as cute in real life as he is on television?
The answer: A resounding yes.
On Monday, August 11, 2009, I showed up at 54th and 10th at 3 in the afternoon where 4 people had already lined up for standby tickets. The website said to get there at 4. A friend, however, assured me that I should be there much earlier than the advertised time. We're talking about a free event, in New York, in the summer. He was so right.
At 4, they started writing our names down and told us to come back at 5:15. At around 5:40, they started calling the names. About 7 people on standby line got in, and there must have been at least 25 rejects. My # was 68.
While we were in the holding pen where they do security and entertained us with old episodes of the Colbert Report, they gave us the ground rules and the run-down. "There are no food, drinks or cameras in the studio. Don't try to give Steven anything, or yell anything out, like 'Hi Grandma' or you'll be escorted out." Another stand-up comedian would come out first, "to warm us up." And then Steven would come out "out of character" for a question and answer session.
"This is the only time you'll see him out of character. You do know that this is a character, right?"
Right. . . Actually, I hadn't really thought about that.
Then they told us it was our job to laugh. "Steven comes from an improv background. He feeds off your energy." They made us hoop and cheer, and compared us with last night's audience. Our first whoop was lame in comparison, but the next beat them.
(Excuse the blur; it was taken with my clandestine camera.)
So I composed my question. . . "What guest surprised you the most?" Ummm. Kind of lame. He's probably already answered that a million times. . . . New question: "I recently moved to New York and will be teaching 9th grade in the South Bronx this year, what are your words of advice?" My Canadian queue-mates approved.
I didn't get a chair; I sat on the stairs on the side by the railing. The last three people had to stand. The stand-up comedian was okay; he just made fun of the people in the audience. But then Colbert came out. He ran around like he always does at the beginning of the show, kicking and flailing his arms, and making eyes at the special few. See me in the audience, at the top right, clapping my hands over my head.
(Thanks, Nate, for the screenshot!)
The first question was totally dumb: "Would you prefer a third nipple or an eleventh finger?" Since he was "out of character" he should have just made fun of her. But he's a nice person and entertained it. Then "Whose idea was it to shave your head?" After that he talked about the difference between real-life Steven Colbert and the character. He said the character has to act stupid, and that he would like the chance to sound knowledgeable. He said that he and Jon Stewart talked about trading interview styles one night; he would really enjoy that.
I didn't get that. He doesn't come off as a total idiot on the show. But yes, the interview style is slightly annoying. It seemed the major theme they were trying to hit home was that this is a CHARACTER.
I had my hand up at every opportunity, but I didn't get picked. He answered about 5 questions.
Then they got ready for the show. Heavy, rock and roll music was blasting. 2 security guards were posted; both black men. There were five big cameras, manned by 4 white men and 1 black man. The director was a white guy. Two white guys were standing across the table from him, going over the script, obviously writers. And then two women came out, a Latina and a black woman, to powder his nose and put his mike on.
He was dancing and laughing and making jokes with everyone. When the lady powdered his nose and patted down the stray hairs behind his ear, he mirrored her and pushed her stray hairs back, too, while stroking her head. . . Did I mention how cute he is?
Then it was time to start. The director started counting down with 10. At about 5, Steven yelled out, "Have a good show, everyone." At 3, the director turned to us--the studio audience--and waved his arm over his head--our cue to start whooping and yelling.
If you watched the episode, you would have seen that he used his shoe as a microwave for his burrito. When it cut to the pre-recorded stuff, he was spitting it out and trying to get it all out of his mouth. We, the studio audience, were laughing, which was not a time to laugh on the pre-recorded video. I wonder if that came out on TV?
So what do I take away from this experience?
The man has a lot of energy. Everything was engineered to pump him up. Rock and roll music blared at every break. It kind of reminded me of Anthony Bourdain's Kitchen Confidential where he describes all the chefs snorting cocaine before the rush of the pre-theatre crowd. I'm not saying anyone was doing drugs or anything. . .
But then that leads me to think of the times I've been accused, two specifically come to mind, by middle and high school students of smoking crack. (And then being so mean because I didn't share any of it with them.) And having gone through the miserable, demeaning, humiliating process of the job search that for me entailed 16 interviews and 5 demo lessons in front of classes of students I had never met, I have a new respect for performances.
So this led me to wonder what a teacher can learn from Colbert. What would it be like for me to "pump" myself up every morning before school? And then what would it be like to have a whole team of people (and a studio audience) to pump me up while I was at it? Being a teacher is a constant performance, and I have to be "in character"--an adult that teenagers should take seriously. But then again, a classroom isn't a teacher's performance; it's a students' workshop. They do the work; I direct, I coach, I guide, I inspire, blah, blah, blah.
But man, was Colbert ever inspiring? How does someone do that day in and day out? I always thought being a teacher was a hard job. Maybe I should start blaring rock and roll music between class periods.
The answer: A resounding yes.
On Monday, August 11, 2009, I showed up at 54th and 10th at 3 in the afternoon where 4 people had already lined up for standby tickets. The website said to get there at 4. A friend, however, assured me that I should be there much earlier than the advertised time. We're talking about a free event, in New York, in the summer. He was so right.
At 4, they started writing our names down and told us to come back at 5:15. At around 5:40, they started calling the names. About 7 people on standby line got in, and there must have been at least 25 rejects. My # was 68.
While we were in the holding pen where they do security and entertained us with old episodes of the Colbert Report, they gave us the ground rules and the run-down. "There are no food, drinks or cameras in the studio. Don't try to give Steven anything, or yell anything out, like 'Hi Grandma' or you'll be escorted out." Another stand-up comedian would come out first, "to warm us up." And then Steven would come out "out of character" for a question and answer session.
"This is the only time you'll see him out of character. You do know that this is a character, right?"
Right. . . Actually, I hadn't really thought about that.
Then they told us it was our job to laugh. "Steven comes from an improv background. He feeds off your energy." They made us hoop and cheer, and compared us with last night's audience. Our first whoop was lame in comparison, but the next beat them.
(Excuse the blur; it was taken with my clandestine camera.)
So I composed my question. . . "What guest surprised you the most?" Ummm. Kind of lame. He's probably already answered that a million times. . . . New question: "I recently moved to New York and will be teaching 9th grade in the South Bronx this year, what are your words of advice?" My Canadian queue-mates approved.
I didn't get a chair; I sat on the stairs on the side by the railing. The last three people had to stand. The stand-up comedian was okay; he just made fun of the people in the audience. But then Colbert came out. He ran around like he always does at the beginning of the show, kicking and flailing his arms, and making eyes at the special few. See me in the audience, at the top right, clapping my hands over my head.
(Thanks, Nate, for the screenshot!)
The first question was totally dumb: "Would you prefer a third nipple or an eleventh finger?" Since he was "out of character" he should have just made fun of her. But he's a nice person and entertained it. Then "Whose idea was it to shave your head?" After that he talked about the difference between real-life Steven Colbert and the character. He said the character has to act stupid, and that he would like the chance to sound knowledgeable. He said that he and Jon Stewart talked about trading interview styles one night; he would really enjoy that.
I didn't get that. He doesn't come off as a total idiot on the show. But yes, the interview style is slightly annoying. It seemed the major theme they were trying to hit home was that this is a CHARACTER.
I had my hand up at every opportunity, but I didn't get picked. He answered about 5 questions.
Then they got ready for the show. Heavy, rock and roll music was blasting. 2 security guards were posted; both black men. There were five big cameras, manned by 4 white men and 1 black man. The director was a white guy. Two white guys were standing across the table from him, going over the script, obviously writers. And then two women came out, a Latina and a black woman, to powder his nose and put his mike on.
He was dancing and laughing and making jokes with everyone. When the lady powdered his nose and patted down the stray hairs behind his ear, he mirrored her and pushed her stray hairs back, too, while stroking her head. . . Did I mention how cute he is?
Then it was time to start. The director started counting down with 10. At about 5, Steven yelled out, "Have a good show, everyone." At 3, the director turned to us--the studio audience--and waved his arm over his head--our cue to start whooping and yelling.
If you watched the episode, you would have seen that he used his shoe as a microwave for his burrito. When it cut to the pre-recorded stuff, he was spitting it out and trying to get it all out of his mouth. We, the studio audience, were laughing, which was not a time to laugh on the pre-recorded video. I wonder if that came out on TV?
So what do I take away from this experience?
The man has a lot of energy. Everything was engineered to pump him up. Rock and roll music blared at every break. It kind of reminded me of Anthony Bourdain's Kitchen Confidential where he describes all the chefs snorting cocaine before the rush of the pre-theatre crowd. I'm not saying anyone was doing drugs or anything. . .
But then that leads me to think of the times I've been accused, two specifically come to mind, by middle and high school students of smoking crack. (And then being so mean because I didn't share any of it with them.) And having gone through the miserable, demeaning, humiliating process of the job search that for me entailed 16 interviews and 5 demo lessons in front of classes of students I had never met, I have a new respect for performances.
So this led me to wonder what a teacher can learn from Colbert. What would it be like for me to "pump" myself up every morning before school? And then what would it be like to have a whole team of people (and a studio audience) to pump me up while I was at it? Being a teacher is a constant performance, and I have to be "in character"--an adult that teenagers should take seriously. But then again, a classroom isn't a teacher's performance; it's a students' workshop. They do the work; I direct, I coach, I guide, I inspire, blah, blah, blah.
But man, was Colbert ever inspiring? How does someone do that day in and day out? I always thought being a teacher was a hard job. Maybe I should start blaring rock and roll music between class periods.
July 30, 2009
"Unequal America"-some excerpts
Some excerpts from the article "Unequal America: Causes and consequences of the wide-and growing-gap between rich and poor" by Elizabeth Gudrais in Harvard Magazine, July-August 2008.
. . .the United States also does less than most other rich democracies to redistribute income from the rich to the poor.
. . .
There is little question that it is bad for one’s health to be poor. Americans at the 95th income percentile or higher can expect to live nine years longer than those at the 10th percentile or lower.
. . .
As further evidence of a correlation between inequality and consumption culture, he points to national spending on advertising as a percentage of gross domestic product (GDP). The top-ranked countries on this measure, according to United Nations (UN) data, are Colombia, Brazil, and Venezuela—countries with inequality levels among the highest in the world—but also Australia, New Zealand, the United Kingdom (U.K.), and the United States, countries with higher inequality than similarly prosperous peers.
. . .
Japan comes second only to Denmark in terms of equal-income distribution among its inhabitants, according to United Nations data. And life expectancy at birth for the Japanese is 82.3 years, compared to Americans’ 77.9 years, even though per-capita GDP in the United States is about $10,000 more than in Japan.
. . .
One widely used measure of inequality is the Gini coefficient, named for Italian statistician Corrado Gini, who first articulated the concept in 1912. The coefficient measures income distribution on a scale from zero (where income is perfectly equally distributed among all members of a society) to one (where a single person possesses all the income). For the United States, the Gini coefficient has risen from .35 in 1965 to .44 today. On the per-capita GDP scale, our neighbors are Sweden, Switzerland, and the U.K.; on the Gini scale, our neighbors include Sri Lanka, Mali, and Russia.
. . .
In 1965, the average salary for a CEO of a major U.S. company was 25 times the salary of the average worker. Today, the average CEO’s pay is more than 250 times the average worker’s. At the same time, the government is doing less to redistribute income than it has at times in the past. The current top marginal tax rate—35 percent—is not the lowest it’s been—there was no federal income tax at all until 1913—but it is far lower than the 91-percent tax levied on top earners from 1951 to 1963. Meanwhile, forces such as immigration and trade policy have put pressure on wages at the bottom.
. . .
Americans and Europeans also tend to disagree about the causes of poverty. In a different survey—the World Values Survey, including 40 countries—American respondents were much more likely than European respondents (71 percent versus 40 percent) to agree with the statement that the poor could escape poverty if they worked hard enough. Conversely, 54 percent of European respondents, but only 30 percent of American respondents, agreed with the statement that luck determines income.
. . .
As American neighborhoods have become more integrated along racial lines, they have become more segregated along income lines and, some research indicates, with regard to all manner of other factors, including political and religious beliefs. (The Big Sort, a new book by journalist Bill Bishop, examines this evidence.) What’s more, even along racial lines, American society is still far from integrated. Sociologist David R. Williams, Norman professor of public health and professor of African and African American studies, has examined racial discrimination and health in the United States and elsewhere, including South Africa, where in 1991, under apartheid, the “segregation index” was 90, meaning that 90 percent of blacks would have had to move to make the distribution even. “In the year 2000,” says Williams, “in most of America’s larger cities—New York City, Detroit, Chicago, Milwaukee—the segregation index was over 80.” Only slightly lower, that is, than under legally sanctioned apartheid.
When a society is starkly divided along racial or ethnic lines, the affluent are less likely to take care of the poor, Glaeser and Alesina have found. Internationally, welfare systems are least generous in countries that are the most ethnically heterogeneous. Those U.S. states with the largest black populations have the least generous welfare systems. And in a nationwide study of people’s preferences for redistribution, Erzo F.P. Luttmer, associate professor of public policy at the Harvard Kennedy School (HKS), found strong evidence for racial loyalty: people who lived near poor people of the same race were likely to support redistribution, and people who lived near poor people of a different race were less likely to do so. Differences in skin color seem to encourage the wealthy to view the poor as fundamentally different, serving as a visual cue against thinking, “There but for the grace of God go I.”
. . .
Mean household income in 2004 was $60,528, but median household income was only $43,389. More than half of households make less money than average, so, broadly speaking, more than half of voters should favor policies that redistribute income from the top down. Instead, though, nations—and individual states—with high inequality levels tend to favor policies that allow the affluent to hang onto their money.
. . .
Previous research has shown that voter turnout is low, particularly at the low end of the income spectrum, in societies with high inequality. Again, this is counterintuitive: in unequal places, poor people unhappy with government policies might be expected to turn out en masse to vote, but instead they stay home. Campaign contributions may provide the missing link.
. . .the United States also does less than most other rich democracies to redistribute income from the rich to the poor.
. . .
There is little question that it is bad for one’s health to be poor. Americans at the 95th income percentile or higher can expect to live nine years longer than those at the 10th percentile or lower.
. . .
As further evidence of a correlation between inequality and consumption culture, he points to national spending on advertising as a percentage of gross domestic product (GDP). The top-ranked countries on this measure, according to United Nations (UN) data, are Colombia, Brazil, and Venezuela—countries with inequality levels among the highest in the world—but also Australia, New Zealand, the United Kingdom (U.K.), and the United States, countries with higher inequality than similarly prosperous peers.
. . .
Japan comes second only to Denmark in terms of equal-income distribution among its inhabitants, according to United Nations data. And life expectancy at birth for the Japanese is 82.3 years, compared to Americans’ 77.9 years, even though per-capita GDP in the United States is about $10,000 more than in Japan.
. . .
One widely used measure of inequality is the Gini coefficient, named for Italian statistician Corrado Gini, who first articulated the concept in 1912. The coefficient measures income distribution on a scale from zero (where income is perfectly equally distributed among all members of a society) to one (where a single person possesses all the income). For the United States, the Gini coefficient has risen from .35 in 1965 to .44 today. On the per-capita GDP scale, our neighbors are Sweden, Switzerland, and the U.K.; on the Gini scale, our neighbors include Sri Lanka, Mali, and Russia.
. . .
In 1965, the average salary for a CEO of a major U.S. company was 25 times the salary of the average worker. Today, the average CEO’s pay is more than 250 times the average worker’s. At the same time, the government is doing less to redistribute income than it has at times in the past. The current top marginal tax rate—35 percent—is not the lowest it’s been—there was no federal income tax at all until 1913—but it is far lower than the 91-percent tax levied on top earners from 1951 to 1963. Meanwhile, forces such as immigration and trade policy have put pressure on wages at the bottom.
. . .
Americans and Europeans also tend to disagree about the causes of poverty. In a different survey—the World Values Survey, including 40 countries—American respondents were much more likely than European respondents (71 percent versus 40 percent) to agree with the statement that the poor could escape poverty if they worked hard enough. Conversely, 54 percent of European respondents, but only 30 percent of American respondents, agreed with the statement that luck determines income.
. . .
As American neighborhoods have become more integrated along racial lines, they have become more segregated along income lines and, some research indicates, with regard to all manner of other factors, including political and religious beliefs. (The Big Sort, a new book by journalist Bill Bishop, examines this evidence.) What’s more, even along racial lines, American society is still far from integrated. Sociologist David R. Williams, Norman professor of public health and professor of African and African American studies, has examined racial discrimination and health in the United States and elsewhere, including South Africa, where in 1991, under apartheid, the “segregation index” was 90, meaning that 90 percent of blacks would have had to move to make the distribution even. “In the year 2000,” says Williams, “in most of America’s larger cities—New York City, Detroit, Chicago, Milwaukee—the segregation index was over 80.” Only slightly lower, that is, than under legally sanctioned apartheid.
When a society is starkly divided along racial or ethnic lines, the affluent are less likely to take care of the poor, Glaeser and Alesina have found. Internationally, welfare systems are least generous in countries that are the most ethnically heterogeneous. Those U.S. states with the largest black populations have the least generous welfare systems. And in a nationwide study of people’s preferences for redistribution, Erzo F.P. Luttmer, associate professor of public policy at the Harvard Kennedy School (HKS), found strong evidence for racial loyalty: people who lived near poor people of the same race were likely to support redistribution, and people who lived near poor people of a different race were less likely to do so. Differences in skin color seem to encourage the wealthy to view the poor as fundamentally different, serving as a visual cue against thinking, “There but for the grace of God go I.”
. . .
Mean household income in 2004 was $60,528, but median household income was only $43,389. More than half of households make less money than average, so, broadly speaking, more than half of voters should favor policies that redistribute income from the top down. Instead, though, nations—and individual states—with high inequality levels tend to favor policies that allow the affluent to hang onto their money.
. . .
Previous research has shown that voter turnout is low, particularly at the low end of the income spectrum, in societies with high inequality. Again, this is counterintuitive: in unequal places, poor people unhappy with government policies might be expected to turn out en masse to vote, but instead they stay home. Campaign contributions may provide the missing link.
Candidates, naturally, target voters with money because they need funds for their campaigns. And since the poor gravitate toward parties that favor redistribution and the wealthy align themselves with parties that do not, campaign contributions end up benefiting primarily parties and candidates whose platforms do not include redistribution. By the time the election comes around, the only candidates left in the race are those who’ve shaped their platforms to maximize fundraising; poor voters, says Campante, have already been left out. In a study of campaign contributions in the 2000 U.S. presidential election, he found that higher income inequality at the county level was associated with fewer people contributing to campaigns, but contributing a larger amount on average—so the haves participated, and the have-nots did not.
. . .
“Adults’ economic status is positively correlated with their parents’ economic status in every society for which we have data,” write Christopher Jencks and Laura Tach, a doctoral student in sociology and social policy, “but no democratic society is entirely comfortable with this fact.” The prospect of upward mobility forms the very bedrock of the American dream, but analyses indicate that intergenerational mobility is no higher in the United States than in other developed democracies. In fact, a recent Brookings Institution report cites findings that intergenerational mobility is actually significantly higher in Norway, Finland, and Denmark—low-inequality countries where birth should be destiny if inequality, as some argue, fuels mobility.
. . .
For most of the twentieth century, the average American exceeded his parents’ education level by a significant margin: between 1900 and 1975, the average American’s educational attainment grew by 6.2 years, or about 10 months per decade. Then, between 1975 and 1990, the authors find that there was “almost no increase at all”; from 1990 to 2000, there was a gain of just six months. Although college graduation rates for women are still rising steadily, for men they have barely increased since the days of the Vietnam draft.
May 10, 2009
Van Rqm 4
The # 4 van line goes through the heart of Beirut. During the fifteen-year Lebanese Civil War, the Green Line divided East from West Beirut. For the most part, it was a no man's land filled with snipers. Most people never approached or traversed it during that time. Today, you can ride up and down the Green Line on the #4 van for L.L. 1000 (67 cents). It starts in Hay al Jamaa next to Hay Sillum in Dahiye and ends at the American University Hospital in Hamra.
For a year and a half, the Rqm 4 was my daily companion. I found that the cheapest and fastest way to get around Beirut was to figure out a servees trip to and from the main Rqm 4 artery. This way I could get anywhere in the city for L.L. 5000 ($3.33).
Crazy things happen and crazy people are to be found on all modes of public transportation in any city. Here's a story of a particularly harrowing van drive in Dahiye.
The ride started with jerky movements--the kind of fits and starts that make you sit up straight and grab the seat in front of you. After a while, an older guy yelled out, "Tawal balek 3lena", loosely translated as, "Be patient, for our sakes." But our chauffeur, maybe all of 19 years, was in a hurry or just wanted to show off. He got onto a major road, crossed the divide and starting plowing down the street against the traffic. The people around me started shouting, "Ma'oul? (Are you serious?) Against the traffic?"
Now for Lebanese people to say anything is a BIG DEAL. They are so used to these crazy traffic antics, they never seem to notice when their lives are in danger. A couple weeks ago, coming back from the Chouf Mountain, the driver was so keen on filling the van (to make more money) that he had a teenage boy sit in his seat, and then he sat on that guy's lap. So the question is: why was I the only one who said anything? I started shouting "Ma'oul? (Are you serious?) Who's driving here?" The other passengers laughed, and asked where I was from. "You must be new here." The sad thing is, I wasn't new there. Four years of this. Shouldn't I have gotten used to it by now?
But back to our cowboy. He didn't stop. We passengers started looking at each other, and sort of laughed at the same time, because the whole situation was so ridiculous. One guy yelled out, "Why don't you just take us directly to the hospital?"
Then our chauffeur entered a tiny alley, and almost plowed into a car that was parked in the middle of the street. (Of course, this is totally normal and to be expected in these tightly-packed neighborhoods.) But Cowboy got out and started yelling at the other driver! in a self-righteous, indignant tone no-less! This made us laugh even more.
When we got to the major intersection that I live next to, I got out and started walking home. Our driver, however, was continuing in my direction. He drove the van up slowly next to me as I was walking and told me to hop in, and that he would take me home.
"Baddee 3eish," (I want to live.) I told him, as I squelched a smile and kept walking, turning my head to look down at the holes and mud that was the street in front of me.
He gave me a goofy, naughty-looking kid, sort of grin and sped off.
For a year and a half, the Rqm 4 was my daily companion. I found that the cheapest and fastest way to get around Beirut was to figure out a servees trip to and from the main Rqm 4 artery. This way I could get anywhere in the city for L.L. 5000 ($3.33).
Crazy things happen and crazy people are to be found on all modes of public transportation in any city. Here's a story of a particularly harrowing van drive in Dahiye.
The ride started with jerky movements--the kind of fits and starts that make you sit up straight and grab the seat in front of you. After a while, an older guy yelled out, "Tawal balek 3lena", loosely translated as, "Be patient, for our sakes." But our chauffeur, maybe all of 19 years, was in a hurry or just wanted to show off. He got onto a major road, crossed the divide and starting plowing down the street against the traffic. The people around me started shouting, "Ma'oul? (Are you serious?) Against the traffic?"
Now for Lebanese people to say anything is a BIG DEAL. They are so used to these crazy traffic antics, they never seem to notice when their lives are in danger. A couple weeks ago, coming back from the Chouf Mountain, the driver was so keen on filling the van (to make more money) that he had a teenage boy sit in his seat, and then he sat on that guy's lap. So the question is: why was I the only one who said anything? I started shouting "Ma'oul? (Are you serious?) Who's driving here?" The other passengers laughed, and asked where I was from. "You must be new here." The sad thing is, I wasn't new there. Four years of this. Shouldn't I have gotten used to it by now?
But back to our cowboy. He didn't stop. We passengers started looking at each other, and sort of laughed at the same time, because the whole situation was so ridiculous. One guy yelled out, "Why don't you just take us directly to the hospital?"
Then our chauffeur entered a tiny alley, and almost plowed into a car that was parked in the middle of the street. (Of course, this is totally normal and to be expected in these tightly-packed neighborhoods.) But Cowboy got out and started yelling at the other driver! in a self-righteous, indignant tone no-less! This made us laugh even more.
When we got to the major intersection that I live next to, I got out and started walking home. Our driver, however, was continuing in my direction. He drove the van up slowly next to me as I was walking and told me to hop in, and that he would take me home.
"Baddee 3eish," (I want to live.) I told him, as I squelched a smile and kept walking, turning my head to look down at the holes and mud that was the street in front of me.
He gave me a goofy, naughty-looking kid, sort of grin and sped off.
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