When people exchange text messages or chat on some instant messaging platform, the communication feels removed and abstract. We see the words pop up but there is a strong and present understanding that we are perceiving only a representation as opposed to the other person. On the other hand, talking on the telephone or over video-chat feels more real somehow. This should hardly be shocking to anybody reading.
Incidentally, I spend a significant amount of time on the telephone.
A few days ago, I began to think about just how abstract a telephone conversation really is. Of course the representation is far more multidimensional than the plain-text methods of communication mentioned above. Nevertheless, you're not really with the other person. Ultimately, you're engaged with a machine. On the other end, a machine has taken note of what the other person sounds like and your little machine is only following those instructions to coldly reproduce the sounds for you. It's a fine imitation, but an imitation all the same.
Another reason that physical presence is so important, I suppose. To actually feel the other person's resonance when they talk. That human energy, it seems, cannot be replicated by telephones or by ever-increasingly-fast Internet lines piping in video. This has implications for considering the relative capabilities of virtual communities and actual physical communities, right?
Paradoxically, traditional letters offer greater authenticity in many ways. Setting aside the old fashioned charm of receiving one (we all know the feeling), consider that it really comes with part of the writer. The paper and envelope has been touched and handled, breathed upon. The message you ultimately receive carries part of the other person in a way that your telephone never can.
While reading the November 22 edition of The New Yorker, I came across your piece entitled Magical Dinners, exploring your own memories of an immigrant Thanksgiving. I wanted to write to let you know that your writing resonated with me on many levels and I really enjoyed reading it.
When I took your fiction workshop at Princeton (in fall 2004), you would often speak to the effectiveness of employing 'important' details; that is, including details in our writing that advanced the reader's understanding of the characters or narrative. In this regard, the peppering of your essays with the details of how you used to lick different objects for taste is so wonderfully done. The moments are simultaneously senseless and remarkably relatable. Who among us doesn't remember surreptitiously putting our tongue on the bumpy end of a battery and the like as children?
Your stories of asking your mother to make American food struck a chord with me. This phenomenon is, I think, nearly universal among immigrant children. I wonder what it is that causes us to inexplicably beg for Kraft dinner in place of our mothers' rich traditional cooking. You rightly observe the tremendous power that children have to hurt their parents: and given that they are just that-- children-- I suppose it is inevitable that we will hurt our parents from time to time.
When it comes to food, at least, I have been thinking that there is a sense in which our adult lives are given to repenting for the way we treat our parents in our youth. At some point while growing, up we realize with a shock what a culinary treasure we had in the kitchens of our childhoods. For me, moving away from home was what really helped me to appreciate my mother's Indian food more than ever before. Today, I take great pains trying (in vain) to replicate that kitchen alchemy. Beyond culinary matters, too, I think many of us in emerging adulthood try to undo pain we may have caused our parents in our youth.
Just some thoughts.
Incidentally, I also enjoyed reading your essay in anticipation of my first Thanksgiving in a Korean-American household. Among so much else, our dinner included turkey, tofurkey, jeon, and paneer makhani. Cultures came together and the food was almost as delicious as the company. It will be interesting to see how Thanksgiving traditions evolve as increasingly diverse groups of immigrants come of age and as different cultures continue to come together in America. In many respects, perhaps this was a quintessentially American Thanksgiving.
I hope that you are well. I think often of 185 Nassau.
Sincerely,
Nitin
PS - I hope you don't mind that I will likely publish this letter on my blog.
By now, one can safely assert that over the past few years, Canada has experienced a disconcerting drift towards the political right.
As a Canadian living in the USA, I frequently engage in the sport of contrasting inherent Canadian liberalism with US conservatism. At times, I even allow myself to feel smug, comfortable with the liberal 'cred' to which I am entitled simply by being Canadian. Recently, however, when I defend Canada's heritage of robust social support structures and multicultural tolerance, I feel like my parents must when they defend an India of their childhood that no longer exists. More frightening, perhaps it may never have existed-- my own flawed memory could be heavily coloured by romantic ideals.
When Martin turned into Harper and Bush turned into Obama, it seemed like the political differences that I (and other Canadians living in the USA) had been so fond of asserting were dissipating into nothing. Admittedly, this conclusion dramatically overstates the case. In spite of all the changes in Canada, our national consensus on issues like health care, gay rights and parental leave to name only a few, are far more progressive than anything currently imaginable here in the United States. Moreover, the recent midterm elections in the USA cast doubt on the staying power of the great Change of 2008. All the same, it saddens me to think we (Canadians) are losing our edge when it comes to progressivism.
The most recent manifestation is the astonishing election of Rob Ford as the next mayor of Toronto. I will take this moment to observe that when New York moved from being governed by Rudy Giulani to being governed by Michael Bloomberg, the city regained some of its lost dignity; Toronto seems to have moved in precisely the opposite direciton with this most recent election. Though one can hardly imagine a Canadian tea party, Ford seems to embody all of the ethos and positions so inarticulately advocated by these groups. For example, Ford bizarrely seems to be vigorously oppose bike lanes. This is a strange position to take in any major city but strikes one as particularly inappropriate given Toronto's historical problems with urban sprawl and with the usually strong Canadian respect for environmental initiatives. He opposed funding anti-AIDS initatives on the grounds that "if you are not doing needles and you are not gay, you wouldn't get AIDS probably." This is wrong and offensive in so many different ways! To round out ihs profile, he is concerned about "Oriental people taking over" and has suggested that Toronto stop allowing immigrants to arrive. That one of the most multicultural and progressive cities in the world could elect such an awful person to lead is beyond embarrassing and speaks very poorly to the direction of Canadian political sentiment.
Rob Ford seems so antithetical to everything that Toronto and Canada stands for. I want to write this off as the product of a tumultuous economy and a confusing mayoral race. Nevertheless, this has happened. I really cannot overstate how taken aback I still am by this news. I want to say that this will all be over in a few years, but then I never thought the federal Conservatives would win consecutive races. I continue to believe that Stephen Harper is one of the most uninspiring politicians I have ever seen and I resent that he represents Canada to the rest of the world.
Meanwhile, Canada happens to have had a remarkable few years economically, particularly when viewed in the midst of financial and economic collapses in other markets all over the world. Canada's economy has done quite well, and much of this has to do with relatively open trade policies.
Are Canadian social supports, healthcare, and our multicultural diversity standing in opposition to this economic success? Of course not. On the contrary, these are conditions that provided the human capital to drive this growth. Did the stability of our financial sector have anything to do with the conservative principle of keeping government out of the way? Absoutely not. Canada's financial sector was as robust and resilient as it was precisely because strong government regulations kept the institutions from taking on unmanageable and dangerous levels of risk.
Am I naive or nostalgic in my assessment of Canadian ideals, and am I misguided in observing this rightward drift? I cannot, for the life of me, reconcile my understanding of what Canada is with the fact that Toronto just elected Rob Ford to be their next mayor.
Other Canadians, can you help me out? Would love to hear your thoughts.
Last week, Ania and I took a trip on Metro North to see Molly perform in The Diary of Anne Frank at the Westport Country Playhouse. What a wonderful production! The theatre and its grounds, built in what looks like an old barn, is the sort of community space that channels the aesthetics of a small rural boarding school. Lately, I've been reading about John Cage's premiere of 4'33" at Woodstock, New York and when I picture the concert hall, it looks a lot like this Westport playhouse. As a pleasant surprise, there were free sandwiches, drinks and snacks laid out for all of the guests to eat and drink before the afternoon showing!
Oh, and the show. Wow. I came away shaken and moved. The cast was uniformly superb. The dramatic and emotional intensity that such a story demands was present without any sacrifices in portraying the honesty of Anne's adolescence. Perhaps one of the most psychologically daunting aspects of this story lies in the thought of prolonged and crowded confinement. To convey this from the stage effectively requires a dept feat of dramatic irony since a performance stage is so literally antithetical to the notion of a closed and secret space. This director and cast proved more than up to the challenge. The audience laughed but was far more often (as I think is appropriate) forward in their chairs, shocked and engaged, mouths slightly ajar. This really happened.
The story is, of course, one that is well-known to most in our society. Nevertheless, like all good stories, something new is revealed or discovered with each retelling. For me, what was most apparent watching the play was the sense that my life is a charmed one. At the risk of sounding cliche, we tend to take things like space and mobility for granted. Who among us has been so openly, callously and horrifically isolated for his race or for any other reason. Who among us has literally been selected for extermination. I say these things not from any profound insight, but because we have to say these things. We have to remember and art is one way we can do so.
When I was on a road trip last year, I was involved in a minor car accident. A friend of mine was upset by the accident for most of the trip; I tried to comfort him by reminding him that things "could be worse"-- nobody was hurt, for example. He bristled at my reasoning, noting correctly (to paraphrase) that I could use this logic to argue against feeling bad about most anything. At the time I thought "exactly: that's the point." Now, I wonder: maybe there are times when even this logic cannot stop one from feeling bad. We have the story of Anne Frank, trapped hiding in an attic against a regime that said Jews, you really should not exist. Silence and stillness during the day. Not even allowed to peer through the window. Exasperated, I kept asking myself in the theatre: can things get worse than this?
The wonder of her story is that in spite of all of this, Anne's voice does reflect a measure of optimism and even levity. Certainly, The Diary of Anne Frank teaches us about human resilience. About the nature of family.
But it's tragically about so much more.
And we ought to remember that this really did just happen.
Thank you to the spectacular cast and crew for a moving performance and for reminding me that my life is charmed.
First off, many thanks to NKW for permitting this little experiment. I would have made my first post yesterday but I was out of the house all day to, among other things, watch the really excellent, but dark, Swedish detective movie 'The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo.' Highly recommended.
A post by economist Dean Baker with regards to the dialogue over financial regulatory reform caught my eye recently. He criticized NPR for not presenting a free-trading perspective in a recent piece on the concerns of those who worry that increased regulation of financial derivatives will drive that industry abroad:
There is no more reason for people in the United States to be concerned about buying derivatives abroad than we are about buying shoes and clothes from abroad. If other countries choose to attract trade in derivatives with a more poorly regulated financial system -- implicitly having their taxpayers assume the risk of a meltdown (e.g. Iceland) -- then there is no reason that we should not simply buy our derivatives from these countries and concentrate our production on areas in which we enjoy a comparative advantage. NPR should have included the economist's position in this segment.
This insight struck me, partly because the general issue (the value of having a particular financial product brokered or sold domestically) seems to be present in some of NKW's reflections regarding the frequently proposed financial transaction tax (FTT or a 'Robin Hood Tax') and, indeed, in a lot of discussion regarding the impact of financial regulation in a globalized market. This is different than the, question of how much revenue a unilaterally imposed FTT could raise given the likely diversion of that business abroad. This capital flight factor strikes me as more important in setting the level of a FTT than whether or not to impose it; clearly there are reasons why many consumers of financial goods prefer to buy in hubs like London and NYC and there must be some appropriate level of taxation before deadweight losses and lost revenue eliminate those advantages and start to be counterproductive for society. I do not disagree with NKW that global implementation is preferable or that the taxation of financial goods is a complicated and delicate balancing act.
More generally, what Baker has here challenged is the value we as Americans associate with being the leader in the global financial industry, even as this requires taking on higher levels of risk and, potentially, future bailout costs, all despite the fact Americans might regardless benefit from the financial products offered by a foreign market.
The U.S. perception of the value of a strong domestic financial industry is the subject of a recent post by Ezra Klein (himself ruminating on Tyler Cowen'spost critiquing the book 13 Bankers) who hypothesizes that the limiting factor in financial regulatory reform is not the partisan disputes going on now but the degree to which the U.S. government believes it needs a powerful Wall Street (in order, according, to Cowen, to maintain the dominance of the dollar and finance U.S. debt)
I am very skeptical of the degree to which regulating derivatives, granting the feds resolution authority and the other main issues addressed in the current financial reform bills will compromise our ability to finance government operations or jeopardize the American economy. I do see, however, that stronger regulation would be figuratively akin to taking away the punch bowl at the Wall Street party at midnight. I wouldn't personally cry much over more staid domestic financial markets- the major effect might just be that a particular, and not terribly vulnerable, portion of the NYC and Chicago labor pool would have to reinvent themselves professionally. Perhaps the societal benefits to being the leader in the world's casino economy outweigh the opportunity costs and the risk or more thorough regulation (like what Canada has) is incompatible with being an economic powerhouse.? I am interested in other people's general thoughts: In a globalized economy need America have the most lively and innovative financial industry in the world in order to maintain our economic position or way of life? Is the cost of doing this taking on the risk of serious future financial crises that require the use of taxpayer money?
One possible objection to Baker's implicit 'export the risk' argument is that the U.S. could end up bearing the burden of offshore financial crises anyway, through IMF bailouts or domestic economic losses, with less control over the consequences.
We are going to try something new over the next few weeks on gawking at clouds. My good friend Robe will serve as a visiting guest contributor. I think this will be a really positive experience. You'll get to read more commentary and hear a different point of view from mine. Hopefully, Robe and I will try to engage in public discourse by going back and forth on a few things.
Recently, I found myself washing a sink full of dishes for the first time in a long while. Over the past few years, I've grown accustomed to using the dishwasher. So it is that while I will occasionally hand wash a pot or pan after cooking, I load most of my dishes into the dishwasher and press a button. This is easy and it leaves me with time to do other things while the dishes wash. My laundry happens in much the same way. On Saturday mornings, I take my laundry bag out of the closet and walk down the street to the laundromat. I leave my laundry with Ming, leave to do other things (while my clothes are washed and folded), and pick my clothes up a few hours or a day later. When it comes to dishes and laundry, I seem to be coordinating more than doing. I was surprised, then, at how much I enjoyed doing the dishes. I've written before about the ways in which we feel human by doing things, and the extent to which this is lost in an increasingly information-based society. I felt very peaceful doing the dishes. It is one of the few times when I can suspend many of my thoughts and just be in the moment. Friends used to find it funny that I enjoy cleaning the bathroom as much as I do, but it's much the same effect.
Yoga and meditation is in large part about clearing your mind. The cessation of thinking. Stop for a minute and just be. I spend so much time thinking about what comes next, and wondering about big ideas. Meditation requires practice and focus. Perhaps the act of doing something with attention and without analysis begins to approach the same goal. When I am washing dishes, when I am scrubbing a counter, when I am sweeping the floor. These, like an autumn forest, are a chance to be alone with(out) my thoughts.
Call me a retrograde, but I find something very romantic about the idea of traditional journalism. While the world is undoubtedly changing quickly; a friend who is a reporter for Dow Jones tells me that a colleague recently remarked to her that "we are all wire reporters now", alluding to the increasing pace of reporting and publication. Still, the image of a gritty reporter chasing down a story, studying the issues meticulously, and reporting with an active sense of professional pride has salience to me. I read something recently espousing the idea that there is a sort of heroism in the notion that reporters do not merely report facts. In being physically present where the stories happen, they testify to the experience. This grants their reporting a special sort of credibility. We used to demand that our journalists not just know about something, but that they know something. Do we still?
This afternoon, I met a journalist from Mexico City named Jose, and we spoke about the notion of journalism as a craft. While this may seem obvious, it occurs to me that we sometimes lose sight of the extent to which the quality of writing matters. Much of this, it seems, has been supplanted with breaking news alerts, tweets, and the like. While I don't mean to suggest that carefully written stories have disappeared (they haven't), I do think we're paying less attention to them. Publications like the New Yorker help to remind us that writing can, and should be taken seriously.
One story that shocked me with its power is Fatal Distraction, for which Gene Weingarten was awarded a Pulitzer Prize last week. In it, he writes about parents who have accidentally killed their children by forgetting them in locked cars. This is profoundly tragic when it happens, and Weingarten handles the narratives with a stunning amount of sensitivity and grace. The story really sheds new light, emotionally and factually, on this occurrence. Outrage is easy, but Weingarten upends that automatic response and challenges us to engage with the issue in ways that may be uncomfortable. Simply, this is beautiful and moving writing. I really urge everybody to read it.
Last week, Syon sent me a link for a group called ‘The Robin Hood Tax’, advocating a financial transactions tax in the UK and globally. I have been thinking about it over the past week and decided to post some of my thoughts here. I hope some of you will respond, whether here or elsewhere, as we could all benefit from thoughtful dialogue.
To quote directly from the website, the pitch is broadly as follows:
The Robin Hood Tax is a tiny tax on bankers that would raise billions to tackle poverty and climate change, at home and abroad.
By taking an average of 0.05% from speculative banking transactions, hundreds of billions of pounds would be raised every year.
That’s easily enough to stop cuts in crucial public services in the UK, and to help fight global poverty and climate change.
There are a few implicit assumptions underlying the proponents’ line of reasoning. The first is that the volume of transaction in the financial services industry is unnecessarily large relative to the economic activity, and effectively just bloats the financial industry. As I will discuss below, I think there is some truth to this argument, although a tax as outlined must be globally adopted in order to address this. The second is that bankers and their speculative trading were largely to blame for the current crisis, and therefore it is appropriate that they should be punitively taxed. This argument, I think, oversimplifies the issue and has more to do with targeting misinformed public sentiment than in making a thoughtful claim.
Framing and the Fungible
While I believe there is merit in considering the implications of a financial transactions tax, I take exception with the campaign’s framing of the policy. Invoking Robin Hood alludes clearly to the idea of stealing from the rich to provide for the poor. The notion of the fortunate subsidizing the less fortunate in society is nothing new. Most developed nations, for example, have progressive income tax rates (the tax treatment of capital gains and dividends for US investors is a glaring counterexample). A tax on financial transactions may have substantive merit and should be defensible as a natural extension of this philosophy and through appeals to reason. Instead, the focus on vilifying bankers creates an adversarial scenario that appeals more to rage than to thoughtful consideration.
The other aspect that irks me is the false assertion that the revenues produced by the tax will solely serve to benefit domestic poverty programs, social services, and climate change initiatives. These are worthy causes, to be sure. While the framers may legitimately be advocating for this allocation, the reality is that existing commitments to these causes are likely to be reduced. Unfortunately, money is fungible. Governments have revenue and they have expenses. An increase in revenue will broadly impact the amount a government can spend, and is likely to do so across the board. While money from programs can be earmarked to a specific cause, there is always enough money to move around elsewhere in a budget to render this meaningless. Given the amount of discretion available to governments in setting budgets, it is at best naïve (and at worst misleading) to put forth the notion that these new revenues will be strictly additive to the intended programs.
Blaming Bankers
Are bankers solely responsible for the economic crisis, and are they fair targets of punitive measures? Without a doubt, bank share a role in the blame. On one hand, the banks in many cases took on irresponsible levels of risk in order to produce profits. Furthermore, their role in packaging huge amounts of risky loans surely contributed to a global decline in the quality of outstanding credit. When the banks were on the verge of collapse, governments around the world rescued them. Given this eventuality, should we be surprised that they were driven to take excessive risks? It may be unreasonable to expect corporations to act in socially responsible ways, which is why government is so critical to establishing boundaries and rules. In Canada, for example, banks are more heavily regulated than they are in the UK or the US. Consequently, these banks had few of the major problems that were happening elsewhere. Canadian authorities, on these grounds, have expressed skepticism about adopting a financial transactions tax in Canada.
In the case of the risky loans, I would argue that banks were trying earnestly to help society better manage risk. That the models underlying these efforts ended up being seriously flawed is hardly evidence of malicious intent. Moreover, many other agents were involved. Governments that irrationally and excessively encouraged home ownership, and most importantly that failed to adequately regulate the banks. Perhaps most significantly, the high frequency trading most likely to be affected by the proposed financial transactions tax is quite distinct from the securitization markets that were at the heart of the credit crisis. Thus, when the website claims “So it’s time for the people who caused this mess to pay to clean it up.”, it seems misguided.
My point here is that law and policy should prevent banks from being able to make a mess of the entire economy. To put in place a framework that motivates these institutions to act dangerously and to demonize them when they do so seems unreasonable.
Substantively Speaking
A financial transactions tax of .05%, while it may seem nominally small, would have tremendous effects on most traded markets. In particular, businesses that make profit through high frequency trading would be adversely affected. Keep in mind that .05% of the notional value of every transaction may represent a far more substantial share of the profit. With many trading strategies, this would probably eliminate all profit. So while the figure may appear small, the implications are huge. Those engaged in high frequency trading argue that they are providing a service by making markets more efficient and liquid, which benefits companies that use markets to finance themselves. I don’t find this argument terribly convincing. Primary market participants don’t typically have a need to transact at these speeds. The main beneficiaries turn out to be speculators who are involved in the markets to make money as secondary participants. To the extent that their businesses are harmed, this may not be socially problematic.
My substantive critique of the financial transactions tax is that these ends are only met if the policies are adopted globally and across asset classes. This is incredibly difficult to effect in practice. The Robin Hood website bizarrely cites a tax in the UK on stock transactions as evidence of why this idea could be successful. I say bizarrely because the consequences of this policy were a shift of stock trading from London to other markets, and a dramatic increase in the use of untaxed derivatives rather than stocks in London. Sophisticated investors were able to replicate the economics of a stock transaction through the derivatives, thus avoiding the tax. I entertain serious doubts about whether the proposed tax could be coordinated globally and across different types of financial transactions.
I think I’ve written just about enough for now! Thoughts?
The owner pulled up in a Jaguar and came into the building. From where I was working, I could hear him speaking to one of the supervisors. Shortly, he came into our room, with a smile:
"Thought I'd come in and meet the summer hires." He faced me. "So what are your plans after the summer?" "I'm going to University." "Oh, congratulations. Where will you be studying?" "At Princeton." A pause. "What are you doing here?" "I needed a job, and I couldn't get one anywhere else."
On a quiet part of Power Dam Road, in Cornwall, there used to be a sock factory run by Richelieu Hosiery. I had a job working there the summer before I started college. Later, I would convince myself of a narrative that said I had taken the job in order to 'gain perspective' on things, but the truth is just what I told the owner: I took the job because I needed money and it was the best job I could find that summer in Cornwall. I'd been rejected by, among others, the City of Cornwall, a call center called Startek, McDonald's and KFC. This last one particularly stung, as I had been resubmitting my resume almost every two weeks. I'd heard rumors that the employees working the night shift got free chicken at closing time, and I wanted in. I told the local managers about how much I loved KFC, and about how I'd once even written to their head office, but to no avail. Maybe it was a problem with my cover letters, but I spent that summer working with socks.
I performed a variety of different functions relevant to the sock industry. Labeling socks. Sorting socks. Packaging socks. Counting socks. Moving socks from one package to a different package. I came to learn that any number of different sock 'brands' (Nautica, Polo, KMart, Osh Kosh B'Gosh) were exactly the same socks!
The task that I remember most vividly is stretching socks. Most people don't know this, but socks are very small when they are first sewn. They resemble baby socks. How do they reach their eventual adult size? Somebody has to stand in front of a large machine that with a conveyor belt carrying many feet-shaped metal casts. To his right is a board full of unstretched socks. As the belt moves, he has to take the unstretched socks and place them on the hot metal casts, taking care to line up the heel and toes. When the stretched sock comes back around, he has to remove it and place it on a second board for the stretched socks. I spent hours doing this, often burning my hands when I would accidentally touch one of metal casts. Sometimes, I'd put a sock on backwards, and share a conspiratorial laugh with the person working the machine next to me. Stretching socks is, to be frank, one of the most boring things I've ever done.
Motivation aside, working in the sock factory really did help my sense of perspective. It continues to remind me of just how fortunate I am to be in a situation where I can pursue almost any profession that interests me. It elucidates the mental resilience that people who work these jobs have. The thought of spending my days carrying out boring, menial tasks with no end in sight is a frightening one, but thanks to my summer at the sock factory, I can at least begin to imagine it.
