Progressive social policies, proposed and realized, are always described as experimental treatments.
The default setting for governance and social life, as it is described, is one of no regulation, no intervention, non-existent spillover effects and externalities, not a single public good worth investing in. An empty space of individual bodies that do not collide but simply move through space around each other, seamlessly, gliding.
But what about norms? Primary institutions? What about social psychology? Is it really the modus operandi of humans, or any living thing, for that matter, to exist as individuals?
I would think not.
As bizarre packets of biology that need one another to reproduce, we are inherently social. We interact, at minimum, to conceive, and as societies have become more complex, to survive. I might be a loner, but I, my identity would not exist, the concept of identity would not exist were it not in relation to another. (Sorry, Rousseau.) I would not exist or have made it to the age of 28 without the relationship of my biological parents, and subsequently, without the attention of my family and other significant persons I have encountered along the way. Even those of us who flaunt the titles of misanthrope, introvert, independent -- not the same, by any means, but all engaging sentiments of individuality or aversion to others -- these descriptors would mean nothing without a body of social beings to which to relate ourselves, from which to distance ourselves.
So perhaps it is the conservative rationalism, the abstinence from intervention, the revering of solitude and isolation, the romanticization of absence and empty space where a society once stood, perhaps it is all this that is unnatural, perhaps this, this is the experiment.
Thursday, April 28, 2016
Tuesday, March 29, 2016
the search for a hero, i.e. the U.S. presidential election
We've been here before, this search for a hero.
It's what we did in the 2008 election, and it's why so many of us who voted for President Barack Obama, while loving him and appreciating his work in so many ways also felt, at times, disappointed.
We hope for heroes.
We vote for the man who built a city, the woman who shook the world, the immigrant who defied the damning forces of poverty, the veteran who saw hell and made it back somehow.
We vote for the man who built a city, the woman who shook the world, the immigrant who defied the damning forces of poverty, the veteran who saw hell and made it back somehow.
Perhaps this makes sense. It is true, after all, that the President of the United States holds significant power and influence over policy and change in both American and global societies. One of my friends, from another country, told me that the feeling that some of us feel now, this sensation of a force changing hands and a feeling of helplessness, it is a feeling that is familiar to him - one that comes every four years as he watches American voters campaign and go to the polls, awaiting the aftermath, the fallout, the unintended consequences, the unspoken agendas.
But, perhaps it doesn't make sense. Perhaps it is naive, these expectations that a single person will be the catalyst and see-through-er of the fixing of everything. In addition to demanding that our aspiring political leaders demonstrate their capacity to eat a fucking hot dog and hold a baby without accidentally hurling it into the woods, perhaps we should also recognize their humanity.
We support these people who believe themselves to be up to the task of fulfilling these impossible requirements of perfection, infinite energy, unfailing health, steadfast and unwavering decisiveness, complete control over emotions, and the ability to account for every single person's lived experience in their perfect words, without error. We support them to the end - defending and explaining away their errors and blaring alarms when their opponents falter. For these are our heroes.
It's the narrative of the individual. The romanticized lone pioneer riding into the sunset, building a town and an industrial empire with the clothes on their back and the single tool in their hand. The visionary and demagogue that might be able to move a nation to action...but with theirself at the helm.
How beautiful it would be if we could afford to believe in heroes, those who will swoop into that city on the swamp, into the underfunded and decrepit school buildings, to the children literally starving for something to help them be safe, healthy, and resourced enough to live their lives, to the borders to heal and save the refugees and divided families. But the last time I checked, we weren't voting for omniscient dictators, all-powerful invisible hands, or gods. Do we have any role in the making of our country, our society anymore or have we left it all to the money, to the de facto rules, and to the formal institutions that we are eager to condemn? Is there room for participatory reform? Room for change and improvement? Room for growth and enlightenment?
Certainly, it is reasonable to demand the best of these candidates; after all, they are hoping to lead our country and should be held to high standards. It's nonetheless both fascinating and disheartening that we masses of impassioned, active citizens and voters end up using this energy to put a single person on a pedestal (and shout down those who disagree) and then suddenly lose that fire when it comes time for us to invest in our communities; speak up to discourage sexism, hate, xenophobia, ableism, violence, racism, classism on the micro level; and participate in midterm and local elections. I include myself in this and hope I can do better moving forward. It's a tricky thing, this flawed and optimistic experiment in democracy -- a system intended to share responsibilities, burdens, and benefits -- particularly because we are trying to implement it in a culture that reveres the autonomous, independent, and self-interested individual.
It would be nice to be able to believe in a hero, someone who will swoop into that city on the swamp and leave it on higher ground. But wouldn't it also be nice to be able to believe in ourselves?
We support these people who believe themselves to be up to the task of fulfilling these impossible requirements of perfection, infinite energy, unfailing health, steadfast and unwavering decisiveness, complete control over emotions, and the ability to account for every single person's lived experience in their perfect words, without error. We support them to the end - defending and explaining away their errors and blaring alarms when their opponents falter. For these are our heroes.
It's the narrative of the individual. The romanticized lone pioneer riding into the sunset, building a town and an industrial empire with the clothes on their back and the single tool in their hand. The visionary and demagogue that might be able to move a nation to action...but with theirself at the helm.
How beautiful it would be if we could afford to believe in heroes, those who will swoop into that city on the swamp, into the underfunded and decrepit school buildings, to the children literally starving for something to help them be safe, healthy, and resourced enough to live their lives, to the borders to heal and save the refugees and divided families. But the last time I checked, we weren't voting for omniscient dictators, all-powerful invisible hands, or gods. Do we have any role in the making of our country, our society anymore or have we left it all to the money, to the de facto rules, and to the formal institutions that we are eager to condemn? Is there room for participatory reform? Room for change and improvement? Room for growth and enlightenment?
Certainly, it is reasonable to demand the best of these candidates; after all, they are hoping to lead our country and should be held to high standards. It's nonetheless both fascinating and disheartening that we masses of impassioned, active citizens and voters end up using this energy to put a single person on a pedestal (and shout down those who disagree) and then suddenly lose that fire when it comes time for us to invest in our communities; speak up to discourage sexism, hate, xenophobia, ableism, violence, racism, classism on the micro level; and participate in midterm and local elections. I include myself in this and hope I can do better moving forward. It's a tricky thing, this flawed and optimistic experiment in democracy -- a system intended to share responsibilities, burdens, and benefits -- particularly because we are trying to implement it in a culture that reveres the autonomous, independent, and self-interested individual.
It would be nice to be able to believe in a hero, someone who will swoop into that city on the swamp and leave it on higher ground. But wouldn't it also be nice to be able to believe in ourselves?
Monday, November 4, 2013
the lonely tower
The moments have started to multiply.
You know.
Those moments when you take a sharp breath inward to remind yourself that there are things to do, things to do, always things to do, and so there is no time to dwell on the rising lump in your throat, or the quivering of your bottom lip, or the shaking in your knees, or the trembling in your hands, or the burning in your heart, or the fatigue in your eyes.
I anticipated this, though, I admit that I thought it would come earlier or much, much later.
Somebody told me that it would be lonely, but not everyone in this sphere of the world is sitting on top of a literal hill, in a tower, looking out over a strange alien environment. I didn't think it would be this kind of isolation -- I've built a shell around myself, and I feel as though the world is hurtling by me with each gust of wind, and another person is married, someone else is happy, another has died, someone has moved, someone is gone, everything is swirling and changing colors, while I sit here alone, buried in my papers and journals, analyzing something that everyone around me is telling me is insignificant and juvenile.
It is no wonder that people run away or break down.
These ivory towers, they boast of having collected the most brilliant of minds, the greatest of souls, the most rigorous of thinkers, and then they break them. Through a highly bureaucratic, institutionalized process of emotional and academic hazing, they tell you all that you must do but tell you that none of it is of consequence. No matter that you came to this place with the passion and the hope to teach the next generation of thinkers and scholars. No matter that you came to this place to attempt to join the ranks of those hoping to find a solution to injustice. No matter. They will tell you that you know nothing, but that you must somehow find the confidence and the means to produce something worth publishing. All while telling you that you are insignificant and naïve.
This is academia.
They tell you that you will meet and befriend great minds. They don't tell you that most of them will try to cut you, steal from you, and criticize you rather than work with you to solve the problems of the world.
They tell you that you will learn to become a producer of knowledge and not just a consumer, a critical thinker. They don't tell you that in order to be respected as a producer, you will first be forced to bow down to the generations of thinkers before you, regardless of whether you agree with them or not.
They tell you that it is a selfish, wonderful place where you can read and learn and think all day. They don't tell you that you will actually be a pawn in other people's projects, not your own.
It is a lonely place, this tower, this view from on top of this hill.
And so, walking home late at night, after having worked for 12 hours straight on a project that I am to attempt to get published while being told I know nothing of consequence, I sometimes catch myself slowing down at the top of the hill before I descend to my place of rest -- the orange lights all aglow on the hillside in front of me. I catch my breath and move along before I start to question where I am.
There is no time to feel. No way. Pause for too long and the fears and the insecurities and the nostalgia might just catch up with me, so I will keep moving.
It is truly a lonely place, this tower.
You know.
Those moments when you take a sharp breath inward to remind yourself that there are things to do, things to do, always things to do, and so there is no time to dwell on the rising lump in your throat, or the quivering of your bottom lip, or the shaking in your knees, or the trembling in your hands, or the burning in your heart, or the fatigue in your eyes.
I anticipated this, though, I admit that I thought it would come earlier or much, much later.
Somebody told me that it would be lonely, but not everyone in this sphere of the world is sitting on top of a literal hill, in a tower, looking out over a strange alien environment. I didn't think it would be this kind of isolation -- I've built a shell around myself, and I feel as though the world is hurtling by me with each gust of wind, and another person is married, someone else is happy, another has died, someone has moved, someone is gone, everything is swirling and changing colors, while I sit here alone, buried in my papers and journals, analyzing something that everyone around me is telling me is insignificant and juvenile.
It is no wonder that people run away or break down.
These ivory towers, they boast of having collected the most brilliant of minds, the greatest of souls, the most rigorous of thinkers, and then they break them. Through a highly bureaucratic, institutionalized process of emotional and academic hazing, they tell you all that you must do but tell you that none of it is of consequence. No matter that you came to this place with the passion and the hope to teach the next generation of thinkers and scholars. No matter that you came to this place to attempt to join the ranks of those hoping to find a solution to injustice. No matter. They will tell you that you know nothing, but that you must somehow find the confidence and the means to produce something worth publishing. All while telling you that you are insignificant and naïve.
This is academia.
They tell you that you will meet and befriend great minds. They don't tell you that most of them will try to cut you, steal from you, and criticize you rather than work with you to solve the problems of the world.
They tell you that you will learn to become a producer of knowledge and not just a consumer, a critical thinker. They don't tell you that in order to be respected as a producer, you will first be forced to bow down to the generations of thinkers before you, regardless of whether you agree with them or not.
They tell you that it is a selfish, wonderful place where you can read and learn and think all day. They don't tell you that you will actually be a pawn in other people's projects, not your own.
It is a lonely place, this tower, this view from on top of this hill.
And so, walking home late at night, after having worked for 12 hours straight on a project that I am to attempt to get published while being told I know nothing of consequence, I sometimes catch myself slowing down at the top of the hill before I descend to my place of rest -- the orange lights all aglow on the hillside in front of me. I catch my breath and move along before I start to question where I am.
There is no time to feel. No way. Pause for too long and the fears and the insecurities and the nostalgia might just catch up with me, so I will keep moving.
It is truly a lonely place, this tower.
Wednesday, August 21, 2013
in a bubble
I only spent three years out of the academy, but I feel a little bit shell-shocked, I must say. Perhaps it is because I spent the last three years surrounded by the most brilliant, self-aware, privilege-aware, empathetic, and social justice-oriented individuals I've ever met:
However, it startles me that some people don't seem to understand what a privilege it is to be part of this space, what a luxury it is to be able to spend the next several years of our lives completely devoted to self-betterment, self-education, and research and learning for our own benefit. We may, in our self-righteousness and mild egocentrism have dreams and hopes of using this training and research to influence the lives of others and save the world, but at the very core, the decision to come back to school for a doctoral degree is selfish, and I don't mean "selfish" in a purely negative way.
I didn't expect to meet so many white people, white academics, mind you, who unabashedly describe things as "ghetto" without understanding the implications and the history of the word and tell me that they don't want to go to the diner on "that side of town" because the area looks sketchy (mind you, I ran through that "side of town" and there was NOTHING "sketchy" about it). I didn't expect to meet adult women who come to graduate school to start quiet catfights between themselves and other women because they fear that they have competition in securing that supposedly attractive man in their class as a mate. I didn't expect to meet so many people who don't talk about feminism with an understanding and desire to connect feminism with anti-racism and inclusion. I didn't expect to be in a space where I'd come out as bisexual to new acquaintances and suddenly regret or feel nervous that I had. I didn't expect so many people who would automatically assume that I was an international student and tell me that my English is perfect and that I don't have an accent.
BUT
The amazing thing as that people listen. People read. People see. People (hopefully) are here to learn.
I had a PAINFUL conversation with a new acquaintance about racism, race, and wage differentials. He argued that econometric research has shown that if you hold all else constant, earnings don't differ by race.
*clears throat*
Two things:
1. I want you to show me that study that presents a regression model that successfully achieves an R^2 value of 1 and truly describes variation in wages so completely.
2. Endogeneity. Tell me how that model accounts for the fact that there is a history, a legacy, a very much intact structure of racism that interacts and is woven through the labor market. There is no way that race and racism aren't connected to the levels of education attainment reached in certain communities, family circumstances, differential treatment by employers, etc., etc., etc., etc.
The amazing thing - is that though economics is often demonized as a dismal science that oversimplifies everything and leads to faulty conclusions. But the tools are there, and I was somehow able to convince this die-hard economics-lover that there are other interpretations and life facts that must be considered before he can embrace this (ridiculous) conclusion. And so he fell silent, not in anger or in protest, but in reflection and in consideration of these points. He said, "that's a good point."
I cannot lie and say that I didn't feel like I had won a battle, but it wasn't about that. It was about the feeling that yes, I, we, here in the academy are stuck in a bubble, but we can make that bubble permeable. We can bring in our experiences and our truths and our interpretations from our other lives and bring them in, and it is our responsibility to hold each other accountable to the world outside.
It is a privilege, a luxury to be stuck in this bubble, and I intend to make the most of it, regardless of how bizarre of a place it truly is.
Thursday, August 8, 2013
the view from the hill
Greetings!
Welcome to "the view from the hill." I've decided to start writing in a blog because in the past, it's been a very effective way to communicate my experiences to those I love and care about, in a way that feels a little less egocentric and in-your-face than sending mass emails about my life. I want to document this experience, this adventure that I am embarking on now, in this effort to make new friends, develop new skills, and gain new knowledge that will hopefully equip me with the tools that are required to make the change I want to make in the world around me.
Why the title?
Well, academia is often described as "the ivory tower" or some other description of a secluded space protected from the rigors and circumstances that often characterize everyday life. A hill is secluded (and also suggests elevation, hinting at the egotism and self-importance that can also be found in the academy). Plus, the academic institution where I will be spending the next several years, Cornell University, is literally on a hill. A massive hill that feels like a mountain and is a rude awakening each morning when I have to walk up it to get to my class...
...but it's beautiful :)
Why a PhD?
I've been asked this question so many times by others and have asked myself the same question so many times now that I can answer it quite easily now. It's a fair question. A doctoral degree requires 5--8 years of foregone wages, the duration depending on life circumstances and the nature of one's field of study, it requires hundreds, thousands of hours hunched over problem sets and esoteric or insanely theoretical literature, and a level of endurance and commitment to research and academics that I believe even the most education-oriented and geeky of us will struggle to maintain.
But I want to do it and I will do it. In the three years that I spent recently as a social policy researcher, I learned a lot of things. I learned that the acronyms ACS and RFP stand for "American Community Survey" and "Request for Proposals," respectively. I learned that it's faster to code a recurring command in STATA using loops than to manually type in the code for each variable. I learned that the progressive movement is not as unified as we like to think it might be and that feminism has a long way to go before it becomes as committed to racial equity as it is to gender equity. I learned that there are lots of people out there who want to tell you how to do everything and will yell/gripe at you even if they're wrong, whether it's out of pride or sheer ignorance. But the things I learned that led me down this winding path into upstate New York were:
Welcome to "the view from the hill." I've decided to start writing in a blog because in the past, it's been a very effective way to communicate my experiences to those I love and care about, in a way that feels a little less egocentric and in-your-face than sending mass emails about my life. I want to document this experience, this adventure that I am embarking on now, in this effort to make new friends, develop new skills, and gain new knowledge that will hopefully equip me with the tools that are required to make the change I want to make in the world around me.
Why the title?
Well, academia is often described as "the ivory tower" or some other description of a secluded space protected from the rigors and circumstances that often characterize everyday life. A hill is secluded (and also suggests elevation, hinting at the egotism and self-importance that can also be found in the academy). Plus, the academic institution where I will be spending the next several years, Cornell University, is literally on a hill. A massive hill that feels like a mountain and is a rude awakening each morning when I have to walk up it to get to my class...
...but it's beautiful :)
Why a PhD?
I've been asked this question so many times by others and have asked myself the same question so many times now that I can answer it quite easily now. It's a fair question. A doctoral degree requires 5--8 years of foregone wages, the duration depending on life circumstances and the nature of one's field of study, it requires hundreds, thousands of hours hunched over problem sets and esoteric or insanely theoretical literature, and a level of endurance and commitment to research and academics that I believe even the most education-oriented and geeky of us will struggle to maintain.
But I want to do it and I will do it. In the three years that I spent recently as a social policy researcher, I learned a lot of things. I learned that the acronyms ACS and RFP stand for "American Community Survey" and "Request for Proposals," respectively. I learned that it's faster to code a recurring command in STATA using loops than to manually type in the code for each variable. I learned that the progressive movement is not as unified as we like to think it might be and that feminism has a long way to go before it becomes as committed to racial equity as it is to gender equity. I learned that there are lots of people out there who want to tell you how to do everything and will yell/gripe at you even if they're wrong, whether it's out of pride or sheer ignorance. But the things I learned that led me down this winding path into upstate New York were:
- Until I develop more subject matter expertise and technical analytical skills, I will not have the opportunity to answer the questions or attempt to answer the questions that I find to be the most interesting or among the most important, and
- I love mentoring and teaching. I want to teach.
I think most people would agree that with these motivations for continued education, that the PhD is the way to go...I guess we'll see!
My hope is to be able to better understand and help policymakers and communities to better understand the wide range of factors that affect the transitions of young adults to financial independence from their parents (the "the transition to adulthood"). In addition to the standard demographic variables such as educational attainment, gender, race, ethnicity, state of residence, health factors, family type, etc., I would argue that there are major cultural differences in how different communities and families approach the stage of "adulthood" or how they interact with the credit industry, financial institutions, educational institutions, and other agents in the infrastructure of adult responsibilities and milestones. Identification of these differences would provide a basis for making policies surrounding such things as credit reporting, mortgage-related decisions and allowances, etc., more sensitive and considerate of the varying ways in which people understand the systems.
Please feel free to check back on this page anytime to keep abreast of the boring details of my time here in Ithaca :)
Monday, July 15, 2013
light (orig. Mar 14, 2013)
I think far too much. In a bad, unproductive way.
Analytical, critical, hypothetical, wistful, regretful...all in ways that complicate or confuse whatever actually exists in the present. This is something that I've picked up from my recent yoga practice. I only started about 2.5 months ago, but I really enjoy it so far. It's the one activity in which I cannot be competitive with myself or anyone else; I can only do what feels right in the moment. If I don't, well, I'll hurt myself.
One thing I'd like to try to counteract the pessimism, fear, and critical eye that I attach to so many of my experiences, thoughts, and feelings, is to enjoy some of the beautiful or the moving things that I find. In this context, it will be internet content, I guess.
So, here's an attempt:
LIGHT.
Light in movement.
Light at dawn when we wake up in the morning.
Light in sound.
Analytical, critical, hypothetical, wistful, regretful...all in ways that complicate or confuse whatever actually exists in the present. This is something that I've picked up from my recent yoga practice. I only started about 2.5 months ago, but I really enjoy it so far. It's the one activity in which I cannot be competitive with myself or anyone else; I can only do what feels right in the moment. If I don't, well, I'll hurt myself.
One thing I'd like to try to counteract the pessimism, fear, and critical eye that I attach to so many of my experiences, thoughts, and feelings, is to enjoy some of the beautiful or the moving things that I find. In this context, it will be internet content, I guess.
So, here's an attempt:
LIGHT.
Light in movement.
Light at dawn when we wake up in the morning.
Light in sound.
mental health (orig. Feb 5, 2013)
I often find myself unable to articulate what I'm thinking -- if my eyes could follow my thought process, they would dart around a space, a room, the world at lightning speed, making connections between a sound and a song and a phrase and a book and a talk and a person and a place...there'd be invisible threads connecting virtually everything. It's perhaps for this reason that I find data, statistics, analyses so interesting; they create connections and ties between things in a way that's understandable.
Well, here's another link, another connection:
Our country seems to like to use mental health as a scape goat. An easy way out to a more deeply-seeded policy, societal, legal, or structural issue that we don't want to face.
Take, for example, the recent tragedy at Sandy Hook Elementary School in Newtown, CT. We were so quick to talk about keeping those deemed mentally ill away from weapons, of the mental health of the shooter. Certainly, this is an issue. I personally don't see why people need guns at all, but that is just my personal opinion. But this nagging, blind focus on mental health...just a distraction, an easy way out compared to examining gun policies, putting up the good fight against the National Rifle Association, to re-evaluating what we mean in our interpretation and protection of the 2nd Amendment of the Bill of Rights. We seem quick to demonize those suffering from schizophrenia, depression, bipolar disorder, and all sorts of other mental health challenges, quick to rule out the possibility that bad policies and crazed protection of gun rights might be somewhat at fault.
Take, for example, the tragedy and the unflagging pursuit of Aaron Swartz, internet freedom activist, technology genius, my friend's partner in life and love. The media and some others are so fixated on Aaron's supposed battle with depression as the cause of his death (I say "supposed" only because I did not know him well enough to presume that I would know anything about his health). Out of fear of the work and constant pressure and persistence that real change requires, we run to blame the deceased, we run to blame those who are not here to defend or explain themselves. Instead of asking ourselves the deeper questions: should education be free, do we need reform to our mechanisms of legal prosecution, do we need more checks on the judicial system...instead of asking ourselves these important things, we flit our eyes away and point at whatever moves first.
Let us not presume to know what once plagued those who walked the Earth yesterday -- let us embrace and support those among us who grapple with mental illness and mental health, and let us be brave and step forward, seeking to make laws, systems, rules, the world, better in earnest.
Well, here's another link, another connection:
Our country seems to like to use mental health as a scape goat. An easy way out to a more deeply-seeded policy, societal, legal, or structural issue that we don't want to face.
Take, for example, the recent tragedy at Sandy Hook Elementary School in Newtown, CT. We were so quick to talk about keeping those deemed mentally ill away from weapons, of the mental health of the shooter. Certainly, this is an issue. I personally don't see why people need guns at all, but that is just my personal opinion. But this nagging, blind focus on mental health...just a distraction, an easy way out compared to examining gun policies, putting up the good fight against the National Rifle Association, to re-evaluating what we mean in our interpretation and protection of the 2nd Amendment of the Bill of Rights. We seem quick to demonize those suffering from schizophrenia, depression, bipolar disorder, and all sorts of other mental health challenges, quick to rule out the possibility that bad policies and crazed protection of gun rights might be somewhat at fault.
Take, for example, the tragedy and the unflagging pursuit of Aaron Swartz, internet freedom activist, technology genius, my friend's partner in life and love. The media and some others are so fixated on Aaron's supposed battle with depression as the cause of his death (I say "supposed" only because I did not know him well enough to presume that I would know anything about his health). Out of fear of the work and constant pressure and persistence that real change requires, we run to blame the deceased, we run to blame those who are not here to defend or explain themselves. Instead of asking ourselves the deeper questions: should education be free, do we need reform to our mechanisms of legal prosecution, do we need more checks on the judicial system...instead of asking ourselves these important things, we flit our eyes away and point at whatever moves first.
Let us not presume to know what once plagued those who walked the Earth yesterday -- let us embrace and support those among us who grapple with mental illness and mental health, and let us be brave and step forward, seeking to make laws, systems, rules, the world, better in earnest.
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