fuel cost per distance

I suspect many people in the United States, unless taking a long road trip, don’t consider how much money it costs to drive their cars a certain distance. Instead, they just drive whenever they need to work or shop or dine out or run errands, then fill up when they have to. For many Americans, the car is an essential means of transportation. We would sooner give up food for our own bodies than gas for our cars.

The weak Sapir-Whorf hypothesis seems obvious: the language by which we habitually express our thoughts nudges us towards and away from having certain thoughts. So let us pay attention to how much it costs us to drive everywhere.

Fuel cost per distance traveled is straightforward to calculate, even though we Americans tend not to think about this term. We rarely discuss this number, which varies with local gas prices and depends upon the fuel efficiency of our individual cars. Here’s how to remember and then estimate this calculation:

…

The retail cost of gasoline is commonly expressed everywhere in the world in units of {local currency per volume fuel}. Thus, the sign outside a gas station in the United States might read 2.979 US dollars per gallon. Similarly, a sign today in Spain might show 1.292 Euros per liter. (By the way, this price is approximately 5.45 US dollars per gallon.)

It makes sense to express the cost of automobile fuel in {currency per unit volume}, rather than {volume per unit currency}. While someone might hand a twenty-dollar bill over to a cashier in order to receive that amount of gas, in general whenever we compare prices or purchase something, we want to know cost per unit.

Fuel efficiency of an automobile is also derived by dividing two quantities: distance traveled and volume of fuel. However, around the world there is a difference in which is the numerator and which is the denominator.  In the United States, fuel efficiency is expressed in miles per gallon (mpg) — that is, {distance traveled per fuel volume}. Our own gas-guzzler is lucky to get 19 miles per gallon in the city. However, in most other countries, fuel efficiency of an automobile is expressed in units of {fuel volume per distance traveled} — that is, the inverse of the United States. A typical car in Europe in an urban setting might be rated 7.1 liters per 100 kilometers — 7.1L/100 km (about 33 mpg).

Raised in the United States, I perform mental gymnastics whenever I see the quotient flipped on fuel efficiency. And yet I wish our fuel efficiency were in units like gal/100 mi.

If gasoline costs about 3 dollars per gallon and my car receives about 20 miles per gallon, I divide the retail cost of gasoline by the fuel efficiency to calculate 15 cents of gasoline per mile.

If gasoline costs about 1.3 Euros per liter and my car uses about 7 liters every hundred kilometers, I multiply those two quantities to know my car needs about 9.1 Euros of gasoline to travel a hundred kilometers (or 0.91 Euros per ten kilometers, or about 9 cents per kilometer).

Quite simply, multiplication is easier to perform in our heads than division, especially because we don’t have to remember which number divides the other.

…

In any case, our car costs at least 15 cents to drive just one mile. Even a quick round-trip to the local branch of the public library is 20¢, to our favorite grocery store is 30¢, dropping the sixth-grader off at school is 70¢, and going to the closest Wal-Mart is $3.00. It’s important to note that this is for fuel alone, and excludes auto insurance, motor oil, tires, brake pads, and other maintenance. The GSA estimate in 2019 is actually 58¢ per mile.

Even the GSA estimate doesn’t account for the driver’s time sitting in a car versus, say, writing a poem or playing a musical instrument. It also doesn’t account for the health benefits of walking, and the environmental benefits to the planet of lower carbon dioxide emissions.

Nevertheless, knowing fuel cost per distance encourages us as citizens and consumers to reserve money, conserve the environment, and preserve our happiness.

Posted on by William Alba 0

design outlets

When I was a professor teaching science, math, and writing at the School of the Art Institute of Chicago in the late 1990s, I enrolled in graphic design classes as a creative outlet. This experience has given me confidence to make my own projects, although I do tend to rely on the perfection of geometric forms. While this conservative tendency goes way back, at least as far back as middle school when I enjoyed constructing mazes, I may have ossified more over the years. Let’s see:

About four years ago I created an emblem to be burned onto the surface of a music box, as a prototype for an artifact that would survive on the Moon for millions of years. I regularized and aligned medieval symbols for Earth, Moon, and Sun. Looking at it again now, I find this icon striking but static; it could belong on a headstone as much as on a time capsule.

Earth Moon Sun 2016 02

About fourteen years ago, before the children were born, I designed a family flag, which I later had made into a lapel pin. Focusing on this project must have been a comfort as I mourned Mookie; the four colors represent the surface tones of the four mammals who had been the members of the family. While I obviously lean on geometry here too, the colors help introduce some movement.

Family flag 2005

About eighteen years ago I completed a book project that combined my interests in design and in poetry (honed in the writing group I started in Chicago and in writing workshops I taught for Bard College). Below is a sample of page layouts.

Before the Rain Contents 2001 04

Invocation Violation 2001 04

My dog 2001 04

Your first time 2001 04

Given this limited sample, it does seem to me that I have become less daring in my designs. I wonder if this is due to a heavy reliance upon keyboard and trackpad, or perhaps just lack of practice to push myself in this way. The children continue to produce wonderfully sloppy, dynamic drawings, but this type of artistry is not limited to youth. After all, when we travel this winter I expect to admire how Gaudí and Picasso produced work that was increasingly more organic and free-flowing in their later years.

Posted on by William Alba 0

measure twice, cut once

Living in the same house for fourteen years, we see how long things last.

The dishwasher that came with the house lasted six years. Its replacement began to leave debris on the plates after eight years, eventually complaining loudly by buzzing and then bleeding water all over the kitchen floor. 

The boiler for our heating system failed after four years into our residence, because the solenoid that shuts off the gas to the pilot light needed to be replaced. Today, about ten years later, that same thermocouple needed to be replaced. The repair guy said that they can last one day, or twenty years — there’s no way of telling.

…

On the other hand, some items are built so well and have such straightforward functionality that, with a little care, they can last a lifetime. Victorinox, for example, makes solid Swiss Army Knives and other tools.

So what is the business model for Victorinox? How can they make money when their products are so durable? They have a loyal customer base who recommends their products. And there are two additional reasons for me. First, I have misplaced and needed to replace some of mine: a Super Tinker and a Climber, as well as my first SwissCard, from moving across the country, loaning them out, and related to confiscation during air travel. Second, I have come to trust Victorinox for quality anytime I need different sets of tools for different occasions. As a result, although I already have three 91mm knives as well as four other models, I am already considering what my next purchase would be.

My heftiest Victorinox tool is the SwissTool RS, which is the first item I grab whenever I need to repair anything around the house. This well-crafted block of steel is an entire toolbox in one hand. My lightest is the SwissCard Lite, which crams so much into an incredibly easy-to-carry package. I also have a NailClip 580, which I purchased even though it is easy to find clippers at the pharmacy, and a Precision Compass, for my neck lanyard.

My oldest 91mm Swiss Army Knife, which I have had for more than a quarter century, is a Climber. This particular knife has served me well on brief and lengthy camping trips; it has more than I really need on a daily basis around town. Looking to lighten the load, I found a heavily discounted Serrated Spartan, which is very similar to the Climber except the large blade is serrated (two different edges is great) and is one layer thinner because it lacks scissors. Missing those scissors, this month I stepped up to the Explorer as my EDC, to replace both a Benchmade Bugout and the Victorinox SwissCard Lite. The Explorer has all of the Climber tools, plus an eminently useful magnifier and a solid Phillips screwdriver. I’m thinking of replacing its scales with Plus scales, to carry a pen and a pin in addition to tweezers and toothpick.

(The following family tree is from SAK Wiki, a great resource for information about Swiss Army Knives.)Victorinox wish list 2019 10 18I carry the Explorer in my shirt pocket, but still long for something that is thinner while retaining my favorite tools: scissors, magnifier, and can opener. A sensible way to slim down is to merge the bottle opener and can opener into a “combo tool” that replaces the small blade. This would also require going without the awl, which is on the back layer of the standard opener tools; although I have occasionally found the awl useful while camping, I can live without it. In addition, some users indicate that the combo tool is a bad compromise and is not robust for prying. Still, making this change reduces the Climber by one layer to the Compact model (which comes with Plus scales), and the Explorer trims to the Yeoman.

I prefer the Yeoman, in order to retain the magnifier, even though the Compact already comes with Plus scales. But Victorinox no longer manufactures the Yeoman. My grail knife would be a Yeoman with Plus scales (preferably dark-colored low-density metal scales, such as the aluminum and titanium ones made by Swiss Bianco), the uncommon hook with a nail file surface, the standard magnifier in production since 2012 (6x glass mounted in clear plastic), the “old” scissors (with an adjustable screw for a pivot), and well-stamped liners. To honor its custom manufacture, I would call it a “Yo, Man” or “Yahmin” or “Gnomon“.

I did mention “well-stamped” liners because, sad to say, my new Explorer has ugly liners. The aluminum is rough instead of polished on the edges, and there is even a little divot out of one of the internal liners. The corkscrew was rough and had some extra metal I scraped away with my fingernail. These issues don’t compromise the usability of the tools, but it’s disturbing that they passed Victorinox quality control, because these tools, with care, last a long time and proclaim the reputation of the company.

Artifacts survive us when they are durable, prove useful, and/or hold sentimental or informational value. Perhaps one of these knives, well-worn and one day freely given, will continue to serve beyond me.

Posted on by William Alba 0

pie vs. cake

Some people are pie people, and some people are cake people. It took me more than a half century to realize this, when I hosted an event at the university and several students expressed that they dislike pie and much prefer cake. I was shocked — it seems clear to me that, in general, pie is better.

Some pies I like: pecan, maple pecan, chocolate pecan, cherry, apple (although it’s difficult to find done properly), key lime, peach (definitely peach), cheesecake, flan, blueberry, pizza, banofee, chess, egg tart, Mississippi mud, pasty, quiche (depends), Canadian sugar, Linzer torte, fruit tart.

Some cakes I like: Sachertorte, Bundt (sometimes), bibinka, brownie (when chewy and crispy, that is, cookie-like), carrot, flourless chocolate, funnel, German chocolate (sometimes), ice cream, Kouign-amann, moon (although mooncake is more like a pie), pineapple upside-down, mille crêpe.

Looking over this list, I like cakes when they are moist (but not all of them: not fruitcake, for example). Most significantly, I generally don’t like frosting unless it’s made of fresh, real buttercream. A thin layer of icing is fine too.

I’ll be co-hosting another interdisciplinary student event towards the end of this month and we have a planning meeting tomorrow. Last year we made halo-halo, and in previous years with the Science and Humanities Scholars I’ve had frozen custard, s’mores, and other goodies — but this time, oh this time, it’s going to be pie.

Posted on by William Alba 0

obsession with passion

I have worked at enough colleges and universities to discern distinctive cultures. Then again, anyone familiar with art schools would expect students at the School of the Art Institute of Chicago are primarily concerned with expressing themselves. Likewise, anyone acquainted with the Great Books Program at St. John’s College wouldn’t be surprised to learn how much students there revere dialogues on curated texts.

The contrast between those two institutions, where I taught successively from 1995 to 2003, is especially clear to me because the students approached their educations in entirely different ways. The students at the School were interested in history only when this information informed their own art. The students of the College were stellar at analyzing how the ideas of others relate to each other but sometimes struggle with their own independent identity after graduation.

When I arrived at Carnegie Mellon fourteen years ago, I quickly observed how students here want to work together, to make things, in order to share those products with the world. Spring Carnival is the most obvious sign of these characteristics. Whenever college students anywhere receive a four-day weekend towards the end of the academic year as the weather turns warm, you can see their true colors. Here at CMU, the students construct human-powered buggies to careen rapidly along the city streets, build two-story booths to entertain and educate themselves as well as local children, design robots to race each other, stage plays, sing a cappella, and otherwise practice for weeks and months before their long weekend in the spring. They do all of this, not for college credit or for pay, but rather because — when given free time — they like to work together, to make things, in order to share those products with the world.

This quality is in the bones of the place. The university started as a trade school to educate the children of factory workers; nowadays, the internships and entry positions are more likely with software companies and financial firms. Either way, the story is the same: CMU students, for all their wonderful virtues, are disinclined to care about knowledge unless it moves them towards employment, and tend not to consider the societal implications of the jobs they take, as long as those pay well. Furthermore, they seem to think of themselves as gears in some vast machinery (“good grades, enough sleep, social life: choose two”) and to overwork themselves to exhaustion.

“My heart is in the work” is the motto of the university, which is a beautiful sentiment on the face of it. Given a choice, who wouldn’t want a job they love? The problem comes when “my work is my heart” — when work is judged significant only if it also possesses your heart, or worse, when work becomes the measure of self-worth.

…

When I arrived at the university, one of my colleagues frequently advocated that we faculty should help students “find their passion”; she often invoked “passion” when meeting prospective students and advising current ones. She proselytized this gospel of passion because, she observed, students seemed happy and successful when they found a career path that deeply aligns with their interests.

But what does this unrelenting emphasis on passion convey to those who have not yet, or never will, find passion in work? Why should all of us expect to derive unending satisfaction from our employment? Work is not always fun, nor should we expect it to snap us out of our beds every morning. We don’t have to throw our hearts at the same job every day for decades. Let us decide for ourselves where our hearts belong.

Obsession with passion for work is pitiless. It smacks of privilege: few people have the luxury to choose a profession that aligns with passion. It reduces education to a mechanism towards employment, initially to identify passion for a certain line of work, then to receive vocational training. Food and rest exist only to enable further work, which becomes the one true reason for being. Leisure, once considered the basis of culture, is a word that simply ceases to have meaning.

…

I helped construct the new undergraduate Core Education in the Mellon College of Science, and have taught Eureka, the introductory course in this sequence, since we launched it five years ago. This week in Eureka we assigned students the task to consider goals for themselves.

The lead instructor for Eureka keeps the rest of us yoked together, so that students share a similar educational experience regardless of recitation section.I always question what we do. In particular, two years ago when we were instructed to show our students Scott Dinsmore’s TEDx talk “How To Find and Do Work You Love“, I chose two briefer portions. The first excerpt begins and ends:

Eight years ago I got the worst career advice of my life. I had a friend tell me, “Scott, don’t worry about how much you like the work you’re doing right now, it’s all about just building your resume.” … 

I wanted to find the work that I couldn’t not do.

The second Dinsmore excerpt concludes:

[T]he best way to do this [push yourself to believe what is possible] is to surround yourself with passionate people. The fastest way to do things you don’t think can be done is to surround yourself with people already doing them.

Even knowing that Dinsmore had died while pursuing one of his passions as a mountain climber, I could not let his message pass uncritically to my students. To provide counterpoint, I also showed another video, from the beginning of Terri Trespicio’s TEDx talk “Stop Searching for Your Passion“:

[T]here’s a dangerously limiting idea at the heart of everything we believe about success and life in general, and it’s that you have one singular passion and your job is to find it and to pursue it to the exclusion of all else. And if you do that, everything will fall into place. And if you don’t, you’ve failed … 

This passion vertical is unrealistic and, I’ll say it, elitist. You show me someone who washes windows for a living and I will bet you a million dollars it’s not because he has a passion for clean glass … 

[Scott] Adams says that in his life, success fueled passion more than passion fueled success.

I align with Trespicio more than with Densmore: passion and profession need not be chained together. She and I are not alone in our concerns about this unhealthy obsession with finding your passion, an attitude that corresponds with a fixed mindset, rather than a growth mindset that encourages development.

When I reported the changes I had made to the lesson plan, other professors revealed that they and their sections had also been uncomfortable with the overemphasis on passion. Since then, everyone has modified the exercise to include a hard interrogation of the passion narrative.

My work here is done.

Posted on by William Alba 0

good-tired

Last month I wrote about the joy of working and the joy of having worked.

Of course we should find delight in our lives… and yet consistent enjoyment is perhaps expecting too much of our labors. Rather than focusing on the processes or the products of what we have accomplished, we could instead take note of the transformations in ourselves.

For example, when it comes to mowing the grass, while I feel satisfaction at producing a neat lawn, I also observe the “good-tired” in my muscles.

I learned about “good-tired” from Harry Chapin. During grad school I often listened to his Gold Medal Collection. On one track, the storyteller tells us about his grandfather:

My grandfather was a painter. He died at age eighty-eight; he illustrated Robert Frost’s first two books of poetry. And he was looking at me and he said, Harry, there’s two kinds of tired: there’s good-tired, and there’s bad-tired.

He said, Ironically enough, bad-tired can be a day that you won. But you won other people’s battles, you lived other people’s days, other peoples agendas, other people’s dreams. And when it was all over, there was very little “you” in there — and when you hit the hay at night, somehow you toss and turn, you don’t settle easy.

He said, Good-tired, ironically enough, can be a day that you lost. But you don’t even have to tell yourself, ’cause you knew you fought your battles, you chased your dreams, you lived your days, and when you hit the hay at night, you settle easy. You sleep the sleep of the just, and you can say: “Take me away.”

He said, Harry, all my life I’ve wanted to be a painter, and I’ve painted. God, I would’ve loved to be more successful, but I painted and I painted, and I am good-tired, and they can take me away.

Now, if there is a process in your and my lives, in the insecurity that we have about a prior life or an afterlife (God, I hope there is a God. If He is, if He does exist, He’s got a rather weird sense of humor, however. But let’s just…) — But if there’s a process that will allow us to live our days, that will allow us that degree of equanimity towards the end, looking at that black implacable wall of death, to allow us that degree of peace, that degree of non-fear: I want in.

I remember learning at summer school when Harry Chapin died. The radio stations at the time would have been playing music from Bruce Springsteen, Styx, ELO, Pink Floyd, Rush, REO Speedwagon — songs orchestrated to fill arenas. This was before indie rock and lo-fi — even ballads on albums like Double Fantasy were produced with sheen. Harry Chapin’s songs are better heard in their masterful live versions, raw in their conversational intimacy.

He played his folk songs at benefits for world hunger assistance, starting around the time of George Harrison’s Concert for Bangladesh and years before the MTV-friendly “We Are The World” and the stadium rock of Live Aid.

The news of his death came as an aftershock, because he was the same age as John Lennon the previous winter.

People say that life is not a dramatic narrative. Yet when Harry Chapin died, he was, of course, driving himself to perform at a free concert.

Posted on by William Alba 1

intentionally difficult

I honestly don’t understand the phrase “I am on a fixed income” when spoken by retirees. Isn’t anyone drawing salary from a full-time job also on a “fixed income”? Unless I receive an internal or external promotion, which typically occurs in the academic world only in the summer, my own income is fixed for twelve months at a time. I could take additional hours — over the years I have been paid for tasks such as teaching, consulting, and delivering speeches — but my current year-round roles already occupy my mornings, nights, and weekends well beyond nine-to-five Monday-through-Friday. Pensions and salaries are both subject to fluctuations: neither one is entirely guaranteed, nor guaranteed to keep up with inflation. In summary, because I don’t draw an hourly wage, have a job that consumes most of my time, and don’t live off investments or on commission, I consider myself to be on a “fixed income” too.

People who say “I am on a fixed income” generally use the phrase when their expenses closely match or exceed their income. They receive an income that is less than when they worked. In addition, they depend upon passive investments, which may lose value, or are drawing down their net worth, which may not last through the uncertainties of personal emergencies, market fluctuations, and longevity. The issue is not that they are on a fixed income. It is that they have little margin of error in the face of substantial financial risks.

…

One day I hope to retire. To minimize future worries, the plan is to build a large nest egg, by spending less than I earn in order to save the difference. The standard advice is to keep a budget, but I know from personal experience it is one thing to make plans and another thing to execute them. Success comes from a combination of having a firm vision and then maintaining good habits that will move you in that direction.

Therefore, I make it smooth to save money, by automating certain tasks, such as placing money every month into my 403(b) retirement and the children’s 529 educational accounts. This is pretty common financial advice: pay yourself first, put money into savings accounts before you even see it, and so forth.

In addition, I do something I haven’t seen financial advisers mention: I also make it rough to spend money. I keep close track of the items that I purchase, including when and from where I ordered them, when I received them, how much they cost, what discounts I applied, etc. I do this not only with durable goods like clothing and games, but also with consumables like groceries and vitamins. This process is annoying and takes time — which is to say that it makes me less inclined to spend money and slows me down. It goes hand-in-hand with my inclinations to make lists, to shop for the best deals, to ask myself whether I really need something, to wait for the best prices. In addition, at the end of every month I pay each credit card bill manually. I don’t have the money transferred automatically from checking, because that would be easy. Instead, I directly observe how our overall spending varies with the different cards, which provides a rough idea of how much we spend in various categories. I record these amounts every month in a spreadsheet, allowing me to track spending trends and to clearly see the amount in our reserve account.

I avoid subscriptions. We have never had cable, although we now stream Netflix, Amazon Prime, and Hulu. I keep my cell phone and tablet data plan on a prepaid basis. I do pay certain bills automatically, such as insurance and utilities, because those amounts are the same every month. And I go on partial holiday of tracking expenses whenever I travel, which is one of my fondest pleasures.

Overall, I do make it as frictionless as possible to save money, and difficult to spend money. This system works for me, and maybe some variation of this idea would serve you well too. At any rate, it’s worth considering, in different aspects of life, what to make easy and what to make intentionally difficult.

Posted on by William Alba 0

to be a citizen of the world

When I attended an adult class on Judaism, the rabbi described the significance of four entities within that religion: God, people, law, and land. Although I did not convert, I think about the interplay among the elements of that tetrad. The national motto of the Philippines expresses a similar sentiment: Maka-Diyos, Maka-tao, Makakalikasan at Makabansa (For God, People, Nature, and Nation).

Politicians in the United States do invoke the will of God and sometimes claim to defend Christianity; our money contains the national motto “In God We Trust”; the Pledge of Allegiance introduced the phrase “under God” during the height of the Cold War; court witnesses and elected officials often swear on a Holy Bible. Despite all of this, unlike nearly half of all countries, the United States has no state religion and never has. The Declaration of Independence, which broke the previous system of governance, refers to “Nature’s God” and to the Creator only to justify how the rights of the people take precedence over the divine right of the King of England. The Constitution, which established the current system, does not mention God, while the First Amendment prohibits Congress both from restricting religious practice and from favoring one religion over others.

US citizenship at birth is defined with regard to people and to land: whether your parents are American, or whether you were born in the country. I have been a citizen of the United States my entire life for the latter reason: by birthright. There is a long tradition across the Americas of citizenship by jus soli. This makes great historical sense because the so-called New World is mostly populated by immigrants (both willing and unwilling) and their descendants.

In addition, I am a citizen of the Philippines by ancestry. Nearly every nation today permits citizenship by jus sanguinis, that is, the nationality of the child’s parents at birth.

I could apply to become a citizen of Spain by naturalization, if I resided there for two years and can demonstrate that I understand and have integrated into Spanish society. The two-year residency period is much shorter than the usual ten years because I am already a citizen of the Philippines. This is a form of reparation for the colonial actions of the Spanish Empire across the globe in the Philippines, Ibero-America, Portugal, Andorra, and Equatorial Guinea. There is a similar scheme for Sephardic Jews who can trace their heritage to Spain.

…

In order to become a Spanish citizen, Spain would require me to renounce US citizenship, because its naturalization process does not permit dual citizenship (except for situations above, like the Philippines). However, the United States does not recognize renunciation of US citizenship unless the declaration is in front of a US official (the US is eager to retain citizens, who must file and pay Federal taxes no matter where they live). Therefore, in this situation, it seems:

  • España would recognize me as a dual citizen of ES and RP;
  • the United States would continue to hold me a citizen of the US and RP;
  • Republika ng Pilipinas would consider me a citizen of the US, ES, and RP.

Under this plan, we could maintain residences (only Philippine citizens can own land in the country) in Europe, North America, and Asia: home bases on three continents from which to explore the world. In particular, Spanish citizenship would grant freedom of movement across the European Union. Its passport is more powerful than nearly any other.

One downside is a potentially complicated tax situation. Also, in order to maintain Spanish citizenship, we could not live abroad for three years or longer, at least without notifying the government. But perhaps the largest question for me is whether I am willing to pledge loyalty to the Spanish monarchy.

…

Wikipedia classifies Spain as a unitary parliamentary constitutional monarchy. It’s not clear to me what it means for Spain to be unitary, in contrast to the US, for example, which is federal. Yes, the Spanish national government maintains the central authority of a unitary state, but in practice it devolves many governmental functions among the country’s autonomous communities and cities. This creates a highly decentralized governmental tapestry that reflects the distinctions in language and culture among Spain’s regions.

In any case, I have no qualms about being subject to a unitary parliamentary constitutional government. The question is whether I am willing to be the subject of a monarch.

Although I have considered living for a limited time in an absolute monarchy, mostly because CMU maintains a campus in Qatar, over a longer period I could envision living only in a more constrained monarchy, where the right of rulership derives from and is limited by written law. In addition to Spain, I could well imagine myself living in other constitutional monarchies such as Australia, Canada, Denmark, Japan, the Netherlands, New Zealand, Norway, Sweden, or the United Kingdom.

Still, most monarchs hold hereditary and lifetime appointments, which offends my democratic republican sensibilities. While the actions of contemporary limited monarchs are generally ceremonial and politically neutral, this summer Queen Elizabeth II prorogued the UK Parliament, preventing legislative oversight of PM Boris Johnson’s plans for Brexit. Within my parents’ lifetime, former Emperor Hirohito led Japan when its military committed atrocities in China, the Philippines, Korea, and elsewhere around the Pacific. My reflexive distaste for monarchs even extends to Disney royalty and the mad public obsession around Princess Diana and her progeny.

However, monarchies are not unique in these problems — republics can also foster authoritarian leaders founded on the cult of personality. The US today has Donald Trump, who flagrantly defies modern norms of the presidency and who appears headed towards impeachment; the Philippines had Ferdinand Marcos, who plundered the nation, and now has Rodrigo Duterte, who supports and has himself performed extrajudicial killings and other human rights violations; during World War Two, the other Axis powers besides Japan were led by the totalitarian fascists Benito Mussolini and Adolf Hitler, who rose to power from the Italian and German parliaments.

A more nuanced view of Spanish monarchy is that former King Juan Carlos I, whatever his faults, did manage the transition from the decades-long dictatorship of Francisco Franco towards a more humane and democratic government. His son, King Felipe VI, seems relatively benign. Ultimately, the Spanish people will decide for themselves whether and why they have a monarch. I can have faith in a country that attempts to make reparations for its actions dating back to the Inquisition and the Spanish Empire.

I am going back and forth on the notion of pledging loyalty to a monarch. I have mixed feelings because I admire the overall operation of many contemporary monarchies but have a deep dislike for hereditary leadership. And yet doesn’t this resemble jus sanguinis? In republics, the political power is based in the citizens, where citizenry itself is largely defined by bloodline…

Posted on by William Alba 0

where are you from

Where are you from? park rangers ask before a guided tour. Where are you from? I also ask prospective and new students to the university. The question is meant to be a gentle opening point of reference.

When people answer where they are from, the reply depends on the current distance from their home, which relates to their assumption of the questioner’s geographical knowledge. We’re from San Francisco or I’m from Chicago, fellow visitors to the Grand Canyon might say, but when I privately ask for specifics because I have lived in those regions, it often turns out they actually live an hour or more away, somewhere in Silicon Valley or Chicagoland.

I’m from New York, a student might answer me. Where in New York? I ask and after a series of successive questions I uncover: Manhattan, the Upper West Side, near Lincoln Center, at 64th and Broadway. Oh, I lived a few blocks away before I moved here, I respond. Having inhabited and visited so many places, I love connecting over shared knowledge of the same spaces.

When we visit Spain next winter, I would first answer that I am from the United States. Someplace like Zion National Park, I might say Pennsylvania or Pittsburgh. If I learn at a conference that someone grew up in Pittsburgh, I’d start by telling them I live in the East End, or North Point Breeze. If I’m speaking to someone at work, I might immediately say that I live near Penn and Dallas, or close to Westinghouse Park. 

I would love to see a study of how self-described “geographic catchment” becomes more tightly defined with proximity to that location. 

…

Like all interrogatives, Where are you from? is not neutral. The receiver of the question can perceive it as an interrogation.

I have certainly been on that side of the question. Where are you from? someone asks, and I’d say that I live here in town. No, where are you from? they persist, and I reply that I grew up in Ohio, along the river, across from West Virginia. No, I mean, where are you from? they ask the exact same question again, as if we are not able to speak the same language, and I share that I was born in the Bronx and my early years were there and in Brooklyn. No, really — where are you from? they repeat, and I know they are curious about my heritage.

I understand the curiosity. At various times in my life I have been taken for Mexican, Central American, South American, Native American, South Asian, East Asian, Southeast Asian. As a young child in the small town where I grew up, I was initially assumed to be Chinese or Japanese, as though those were the only two options, although I was also discriminated by one classmate for being Black. My last name is ambiguous enough so that, before people meet me, they sometimes guess that I am Italian or Spanish.

It’s fine to be curious. However, repeating Where are you from? over and over implies: You’re not from around here, are you? You don’t look like you belong here. The repetition comes across as a microaggression.

People who are curious about someone’s ethnic heritage should first share their own, as a point of reference and shared vulnerability. Or they should just ask straight out, like the Native American delivery man in college who asked for my nation, speculating that I am Sioux.

Posted on by William Alba 0

having fun

This is a counterpoint to some thoughts I wrote last week about the nature of work. In that piece, to have written, I admitted a focus on the joy of having accomplished something, in contrast to the difficult process of creation.

…

Stuart Levine, my dean, dear friend, and closest colleague years ago at Bard High School Early College, occasionally asked me Are you having fun? The question would come for me from out of the blue, during our drive from Columbus Circle to the Lower East Side, or waiting on line as we picked up donuts and coffee on Houston Street, or as we chatted in one of our adjoining offices, or after we discussed how to announce a policy decision. 

Are you having fun? he would say, and at first the question puzzled me because he asked at moments when I had been thinking about the task at hand, or the task just finished, or the many tasks that needed to be done next. Having fun? I wondered, What does that have to do with work?

His question would cause me to pause whatever else I was thinking about. Yes, I am, I would find myself replying, after some deliberation and sometimes to my surprise. Navigating the perilous straits of academic administration, he explained, you have to find your enjoyment and satisfaction along the way.

I miss Stuart for introducing those metacognitive moments into my days, that opportunity to reflect. His question reminded me that we are not just cogs in a machine. We should ask ourselves frequently why we are doing what we are doing, checking in with ourselves to verify that — while work is sometimes difficult, even frustrating — we enjoy the process of what we are doing, not just the product of what we have done.

Perhaps I could serve to present this question to friends and colleagues here. This requires a certain touch, as with any challenging question — the sensibility to recognize whether, when, and how to ask this and other important questions of our lives.

Posted on by William Alba 0