Sandtown: Too Far Down?

When do we just walk away? How far down does a neighborhood, or a city (or a nation, or a planet) have to go before we accept that the cause is lost, that no reform or movement can save it?

Ursula LeGuin’s “Hainish” series of novels deals with a federation of planets, far in the future. These stories represent our planet in a chillingly matter-of-fact way. Hundreds of years before, Earth had been rendered all but inhabitable by war and pollution. Little mention is made of this in any of the Hainish novels; it is just a sad fact of their history. As such — for LeGuin is a master at creating fully-formed, believable alternate worlds — this brief treatment of Earth’s possible future is deeply disturbing.

There are a number of islands and low-lying regions, around the world, that will likely have to be abandoned as sea levels inexorably rise over the next few decades. The Indian Ocean nation of Maldives, for example, averages 1.3 meters above sea level, and is disappearing rapidly. In Bangladesh, a third of the country’s land area floods every year, and farmers have been forced to develop rafted crops that can float above what used to be their land.

Mural of Malcolm X, Nina Simone and James Baldwin by Baltimore artist and teacher Ernest Shaw

And then there’s Baltimore, Maryland, the once-proud port and industrial city, home of the Orioles, distinctive marble front stoops that rowhouse residents would lovingly polish, and more registered historical monuments per square acre than any other US city. These days, though, it’s the setting of the dystopian TV hit “The Wire,” and the scene of epic conflict between the police and the populace.

Baltimore’s problems are particularly focused in the storied neighborhood of Sandtown (officially it’s called “Sandtown-Winchester”). In years past, Sandtown was the city’s preeminent African-American neighborhood. Prominent natives include Billie Holiday, Cab Calloway and Thurgood Marshall. Its nightlife was legendary; in the 50s and 60s all the top black performers made sure to perform in the nightclubs on Pennsylvania Avenue. The long-enduring Arch Social Club on Pennsylvania has been bringing men together for games, music and drinks since 1905. Now it is an outpost in a desert.

The Arch Social Club

Sandtown today is better-known as Freddie Gray’s neighborhood. If you’re just joining us, Freddie Gray was a 25 year old Baltimore man who was arrested for no reason other than fleeing the police (which Baltimoreans routinely do, just usually a bit less suddenly). After Gray was fatally injured in the back of a police van, six officers were initially placed on paid leave — and were then acquitted of homicide in his death. This led to widespread protests, some of which became violent.

Of course, there is more to it. After the assassination of Dr. Martin Luther King in 1968, Baltimore endured riots that were much larger and more destructive than the “Freddie Gray uprising.” Furthermore, though Baltimore started losing manufacturing jobs in the 1960s, it was after the 1968 rioting that its population really started to fall. There are large swaths of abandoned houses in Baltimore that have stood empty since then. The sad truth of the matter is that many of Baltimore’s neighborhoods were abandoned after 1968, and have never recovered.

In 1960, Baltimore City was home to 939,000 people. Its population today is just under 615,000. Along with this decline, the city’s racial and economic composition changed drastically. The processes of “white flight and urban decay” were going on in many US cities during this period, but they seemed to hit Baltimore especially hard. The basic outline is well-known: the tax base dwindled, schools (and all manner of public infrastructure and services) suffered; crime burgeoned.

Nobody would deny that police officers in Baltimore have a hard job. Recently there have been reforms, body cams have been adopted and sensitivity training has been undergone. Yet these problems are deeply established. Addressing them will demand lots of time and patience. Today, 44% of Baltimore’s police force is African-American, and less than 50% is white. Nevertheless, about 65% of Baltimore’s people, and over 95% of Sandtown’s residents, are black. The police seldom live in the areas they patrol. It’s pretty much inevitable that they would come to be seen (and, perhaps, to see themselves) as an occupying force in hostile territory. In black neighborhoods there is no incentive to cooperate with the police, and strong reasons not to. “Snitches” are hated. In 2002 a family of seven died when their house was firebombed after they alerted the police to drug dealing and other crime in their neighborhood.

Jobs are scarce. For young black men, or for those with felony convictions, they are nonexistent. Drugs filled an economic void. There was a strong incentive to recruit kids, young enough to be prosecuted as juveniles, for handling and retailing illegal drugs. All of these factors led to a truly terrifying social spiral. In Sandtown, every socioeconomic indicator bottomed out. For example, unemployment in Sandtown stands at 21%; more than 55% of households have an annual income of less than $25,000. There are twice as many stores that sell alcohol and tobacco as in the average Baltimore neighborhood. One in every four buildings in Sandown is vacant. Not surprisingly, this neighborhood has the highest number of felony convictions per capita in Baltimore.

I have been reading about Sandtown with sincere interest, but I’ve never been there. Were I to go, I doubt that I would feel either welcome or comfortable. I’ve had to tour the neighborhood using Google Street view — which shows people walking around, or sitting on stoops, their faces blurred out. In my virtual strolls, I noticed three pervasive aspects of the neighborhood. First, of course, is all the abandoned buildings; they’re everywhere. Second is the striking number of churches. One can hardly travel more than two blocks without finding another one, and they range from proud century-old edifices to basement congregations with a cross painted on the street-side wall. Third, one sees how few businesses there are in this neighborhood. Baltimore counts a fairly high number of small markets and take-out places in Sandtown. But one soon sees that these “businesses” are very rudimentary. Any fool can see that there is little legal entrepreneurship in Sandtown.

As if to finally prove the hopelessness of the situation, in the 1990s the Sandtown-Winchester neighborhood was given a big dose of special financial help. The Enterprise Foundation, an organization specializing in funding and constructing affordable housing, raised $130 million to spend in Sandtown in an attempt to show that a comprehensive effort could succeed in revitalizing a single neighborhood. Unfortunately, there seems to have been little to show for all this investment. A 2015 study examined Sandtown’s rates of various indicators of well-being, including educational levels, employment, lead-contamination, murder rates, etc. — and found that homeownership was the only indicator that improved during this time; it went up by some 30%. Unfortunately, this came at a time when homeownership in such a place is a precarious investment, for all the obvious economic reasons — and then, the great crash of 2008 delivered a body blow, causing home prices all over Baltimore to plummet, and creating a jump in foreclosures throughout the city.

Notwithstanding all of Sandtown’s scary challenges, there are still people who raise children there, send them to school, go to church and to work. There are still people there who have neither fled, succumbed to addiction nor joined street gangs. There are still people in Sandtown, in short, who are doing their best to make a living.

Such folks are aware that Baltimore, which has been struggling for decades to fund adequate schools and basic services, has a conventional tax system. There is a property tax on land and buildings; there is also a small state property tax. There is a personal property tax, falling on various forms of movable and capital property; this imposes a particularly tough penalty on small business. And there is a flat city income tax of 3.12%. Given the many economic challenges that face anyone trying to make a living in a place like Sandtown, it seems likely that these tax burdens put the last nail in the coffin of entrepreneurial opportunity.

By now, Earthsharing readers should be somewhat familiar with the Henry George Theorem. Briefly, this theorem, which is an accepted part of today’s economic canon, states that in any reasonably well-run city, the annual rental value of its land is a sufficient fund for all of its public infrastructure needs. As a city invests in public infrastructure and services, these things enhance its land values. Public services that are paid for by land rent, in fact, finance themselves.

This suggests a modest proposal that could be made for a place like Sandtown. There is precedent for a program that targets a single needy neighborhood. But what’s the use? Society threw $130 million at Sandtown and it didn’t work. Yet it is possible the local entrepreneurial choices, small at first, can be better-targeted and more effective than a clumsily-targeted outside initiative.

Here is a suggestion for a pilot program. Suppose, within the boundaries of Sandtown-Winchester, we eliminate the city taxes on buildings, personal property and income. This would mean that a renovated residential building, or any new small-business investment, would be tax-free. Say someone wants to open a grocery, a bar, an auto-body shop or even (dare one dream!) a bookstore. Suddenly it would be more attractive to establish these businesses in Sandtown than in surrounding neighborhoods that still labor under conventional tax burdens.

If Sandtown eliminated all those taxes, where would it get its revenue? It’s probably worth saying that today’s Sandtown is not a huge revenue source for the city of Baltimore. Its underground economy is likely considerably larger than its taxable economy, in any case. But in our pilot project, anyway, what revenue Sandtown did bring in — which will probably not be far short of, and might even exceed, what it currently brings in — would come from a tax on its land value.

We can’t expect miracles. Sandtown, along with other neighborhoods like it, has been deeply troubled for a long time. Yet one can imagine that the people who live there, who have had so little reason for optimism, might rally around new businesses and renovations — might help to support and protect them. If, indeed, it’s ever time to give up on a neighborhood, that day isn’t here yet. A basket case can still hold the building materials of a healthy community.

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Flooding in Houston: No Real Surprise

Officials kept telling interviewers that nothing on this level had ever happened, that the flooding caused by Hurricane Harvey was a millennial event. This seems to have been both true and not true — and really, more the latter. Turns out that this is the third 500-year flooding event Houston has seen in the last three years. Something is definitely going on here. It seems likely that climate change is a factor; many commentators noted that the waters of the Gulf of Mexico are alarmingly warm this year. That allowed the storm to quickly build in intensity as it swept toward the Texas coast — and, it allowed it to pick up that much more water when it veered back over the Gulf, and then dump it on Houston.

There is another factor: Houston’s motto is “the city with no limits.” This is seen metaphorically, of course, in the spirit of can-do American enterprise. Yet there’s some irony in the fact that it seems to have been taken literally, too: Houston seems to think it has endless land on which to build (and takes pride on having very few land-use regulations). Population has grown rapidly, and Houston has recklessly sprawled out, paving over absorbent grassland. Ian Bogost writes in The Atlantic: “Houston poses both a typical and an unusual situation for stormwater management. The city is enormous, stretching out over 600 square miles. It’s an epitome of the urban sprawl characterized by American exurbanism, where available land made development easy at the edges.”

Sprawl development is often seen as a natural process, just the way things are done these days. For example, back in 2005 the Lincoln Institute issued a report on “American Spatial Development and the New Megalopolis” that implied, with apparent approval, that sprawled-out exurban regions are the new normal, delivering a high quality of life and a good deal of convenience. The report made no mention of the environmental consequences of this mode of development. (It also claimed, dubiously, that urban centers had reached the limits of their infrastructures and would be hard-pressed to accept many more people.) As an example of the exurban model, Houston has been thriving. It is arguably the most diverse city in the US, and unemployment is quite low. Aside from flooding, Houston is nowhere nearly as bad off as many US cities. If you aren’t worried about egregious waste of land and resources, and miles and miles of impermeable pavement shunting water off onto lower-lying (and lower-income) neighborhoods, then Houston is doing pretty well.

Houston has three beltways. The first, I-610, now called the “Inner Loop”, became part of the Interstate Highway system in 1956, encircling the city of Houston proper, as beltways tend to do. A second 88-mile loop, Texas Route 8, or the Sam Houston Parkway, was begun in the late 70s and completed in the early 90s. Now, a third beltway is under construction: Texas Route 99, or the Grand Parkway, will be the longest beltway in the US, encircling an area the size of Rhode Island. Each new loop has, of course, raised land values further out from the city, and led to new waves of sprawl development. These new developments are not always middle-class enclaves, however. Josh Vincent, Director of the Center for the Study of Economics, notes

Keep in mind that Houston with ring roads like the 610 can get people in and out (in good weather) quickly from areas that have little apparent land value. That’s where a lot of low income and subsidized housing is built — I’d say most of it. They have little land value because they are intentionally placed in floodplains. The Feds still provide funding to rebuild after floods because that’s where the city wants low income housing. Climate change may well be playing a role, of course, but the city fathers are clear that they do not care to pay for massive infrastructure to handle flooding. If you look at the views of the flooded city, you’ll note that the bayous and streams are where they built most of the road infrastructure.

Indeed, the low-lying roadways are where a lot of the water has collected, which makes Mayor Sylvester Turner’s decision not to call for an evacuation seem sensible under the circumstances.

Two major reservoirs, called Addicks and Barker, were created in the late 1940s to help control flooding in Houston. They have been in the news lately because they are past full. To guard against this, some water had been allowed to spill out, in a triage maneuver that endangered fewer neighborhoods than it protected. Ultimately, though, both reservoirs began to overflow on their own. While it’s true that Harvey brought a staggering, unprecedented amount of rain to the region, it’s also worth noting that these two dams were initially placed well outside Houston’s built-up region. Today, they are inside the new beltway, surrounded by development.

Cars, after all, are how people get around in Texas. Houston does have some public transportation; in fact its systems have recently been upgraded. Two new light rail lines have been built, at the cost of $1.4 billion. City bus routes have been reorganized, switching from a wheel-spoke pattern to a grid, to improve frequency and decrease travel times without increasing cost. Though these improvements have been moderately successful, ridership on the new train lines has been lower than expected. It’s generally known that people don’t use public transportation in Houston unless they have no other way to get places. On an average weekday about 300,000 rides are taken on Houston’s buses and trains. In New York, whose city-limits population is about 3½ times that of Houston, weekday bus-and-train ridership is about 7.6 million.

I haven’t been to Houston, so I know nothing of its folkways and nuances. I don’t doubt that there are nice things about the place; one of them seems to be the great courage and fortitude with which Houstonians have pitched in to help their neighbors during the Harvey crisis. One architectural feature of downtown Houston, though, strikes me as, well, kinda creepy. There is a six-mile network of pedestrian tunnels beneath the center-city area. They are built out with shops and restaurants, and are accessible from the basements of prominent office buildings and hotels. They are not a municipal project; as an ad-hoc, private assemblage, they seem not to be very well coordinated or mapped. Perhaps knowledgeable folk can write and tell us why they exist. I could be wrong, but I suspect that they serve as a refuge from the street-level welter of cars, huge belching pickup trucks, parking lots, gas stations, multi-lane streets, service roads and U-turn lanes full of cars, cars, cars.

Center-city Houston. Minute Maid Stadium is where the Astros play these days. The building just to the right of the search bar is an 8-story parking garage. Another one would free up seven of those surface lots!

Metropolitan Houston — the area within I-610, the innermost of the three beltways — may have too many automobiles. But it cannot be said to have too many buildings, or to be unable to absorb more residential construction. There is abundant vacant land, lots of small, obsolete buildings and MANY surface parking lots (which, of course, absorb no floodwater). Some blame this on Houston’s lack of zoning, but that can only be a small part of the story, because Houston’s sprawl is mirrored in many cities that impose stringent regulations. It’s more accurate to say that the “city with no limits” merely epitomizes the exurban model of growth, which seemed so satisfactory for a while — but now shows itself to be not just unsustainable but dangerously unlivable. It might not be an exaggeration to say that in this day and age, the anti-sprawl efficiencies of land value taxation are not just a tool for urban revitalization, but a key to urban survival.

As of the end of August, 2017, it has been reported that at least 1,200 people have died in catastrophic flooding in Bangladesh, India and Nepal.

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Gun Culture

Recently I decided it was time to introduce myself to an aspect of American culture with which I had no experience. I began by picking up a copy of a magazine called Tactical Weapons.

I can understand the impulse to arm oneself in self-defense, and hunting is part of our culture and economy. But folks, the weapons in this magazine are next-level. Is it unfair to single out a trade publication dealing with law-enforcement and military hardware? Perhaps, but it seems odd that one would purchase such a specialized publication where I did: in between Hot Rod and Guitar Player at the supermarket. What uses do “normal” people have for the extreme weapons reviewed and lovingly field-tested in its pages? You’re not going after deer with these things. Are we talking about sporting, family fun — with unimaginably powerful and lethal weapons? Well, kind of.

This issue of  was dedicated to Chris Kyle, the murdered war hero, author of 160 confirmed kills on the battlefield. It featured reviews of long-range rifles, including the King Xcaliber, a top-of-the-line sniper rifle, which will pierce armor a mile away, and which you can buy for $13,900. For the less well-heeled, it also rates fifteen AR-15 variants in the $600-$900 range. For the ladies, ads offer cute pistols in designer colors.

I realize it’s a tough world. I understand that the demand for firearms is efficiently supplied by our great American free market (though, come to think of it, the Soviets seem to have been pretty good at it, too). A time may come when I, or my loved ones, would have to depend on the threat of lethal force. But if, recognizing such a need, I were to go out and buy myself a firearm, it would be something I’d do without a shred of glee. In the wake of the latest in a long series of senseless mass shootings, I am having trouble wrapping my head around the excitement, the bang people get out of guns. You know?

This excitement often comes with a strong load of righteousness. In some circles, the enjoyment of guns is evidence of real-world patriotism. It’s a dangerous world. A tyrannical state is bent on taking your freedom. A growing criminal underclass threatens your home and family. How can you be a Responsible Citizen without arming yourself to the teeth?

The opening editorial in Tactical Weapons, by Nino Bosaz, is titled “Guns, Patriots, Valor.” It extols the life and weapons of Chris Kyle, and puts into their carping little places those critics of the American Sniper film who “have little use or respect for the driving forces that kept Chris Kyle going during his valiant four tours of duty in Iraq — God, country and family.” Bosaz adds, “this issue puts the spotlight on the state of Idaho…. Be sure to check out the one-of-a-kind AR rifle put together by several Idaho-based companies. This rifle truly epitomizes the beliefs and steadfastness of our founders and framers — plus, she’s a real shooter!”

Gun-review writers contort their prose to mention legal, civilian uses for these weapons. The Barrett 98B, for instance, “scream[s] sub-MOA precision no matter the game or mission!” It’s a sniper rifle, people; there’s no game. (MOA stands for “minute of angle,” a relevant attribute for comparing the accuracy of long-range weapons.) The gun might be pricey, but it’s deadly enough that “$4,199 seems like a bargain, whether you’re a casual shooter or the purchasing officer for your police department, government agency or private contractor.” Similarly, the review of 15 “Best Bang” AR-15 rifles is lets us know that “These sub-$1,000 ARs can prove their place on the range or during missions without breaking the bank!”

Missions? I doubt that either the Pentagon or the Police are in the market for bargain-priced assault rifles. Or do they mean the mission on which the AR-15 was so effectively used at Sandy Hook elementary school? Or for which a dozen of them were equipped with “bump-stocks” to convert them from semi- to essentially fully automatic, as in Las Vegas?

Sorry. I was being effeminately petulant, there. The writer was referring to missions to defend Our Way of Life against Bad People.

Conveniently, the training one needs to be ready to fight the gummint also makes for good old family fun at the range. What could be groovier than firing 186 founds per second from the six barrels of an M134 GE machine gun (billed on YouTube as “the most fun you can have with your pants on”)? Or, for a serious law-abiding good time, you could get your hands on a Barrett M107 50mm, the most powerful rifle legally available without a special permit. In one video we see a former national pistol champion, with one shot, penetrate a 3/8″ steel plate, vaporize a watermelon (“That melon didn’t like it very much.”) and shatter a four-inch concrete block. In another video a series of guys take turns firing the big Barrett. We don’t see what they’re shooting at (the target isn’t the point). Each guy lowers himself carefully before the Barrett, peers into its precision optics and squeezes the trigger. The gun has a high-tech recoil-suppression mechanism, but it still delivers a wallop to the shoulder. Having shot, each man staggers up, giggling softly, and wanders off camera, possibly to change his underpants.

I get it: guns are awesome machines, as appealing in their way as cars, or computers. If folks want to shoot guns — safely, for their own enjoyment — how can a free society restrict them from doing so? Hammers don’t drive nails; people drive nails.

However: the legal arguments regarding gun control are not the interesting thing about this. Innocent techno-amusement is just one small part of gun enthusiasts’ enthusiasm. Elements of patriotism, righteous duty and America’s Greatness are all stirred up together into a big ol’ Texas chili of faith-based fun.

Gun enthusiasts are thrilled to pick up an AR-15 Bushmaster or an AK-47 Kalashnikoff (there’s a lively sort of Ford vs. Chevy rivalry about them) add a “bump-stock” kit to restore its fully-automatic functions, and spray hot death (safely, responsibly, on ranges). They compare the lethality of various kinds of ammo, becoming poetic about the damage this or that “load” will do to the vitals of a dirtbag dumb enough to invade your domain. Or one might prefer prefer the close-quarters awesomeness of a Tec-9 automatic handgun, with a 32-round magazine.

Folks, these guns are made for combat. Some of them — auto or semi-auto weapons with magazines holding more than 10 rounds — were banned by federal law between 1994 and 2004. They no longer are. I’m not suggesting that their sporting use should be controlled by the Thought Police, or outlawed by the Nanny State. I do think, however, that their sporting use is weird enough to bear some examination.

Seeking insight, I turned to a prolific team of You-Tubers from Georgia, creators of the popular “Gun Gripes” and “Five Guns” series. Thirty-something Eric is the factotum of the outfit, the main narrator of the series. He’s a bit chunky, as if he enjoys his beer and his Mama’s cooking, but he certainly knows his firearms. Barry, who sports a Duck Dynasty beard, is the elder statesman; in more-serious segments he dons a tweed jacket and is introduced as “Professor Barry.” Both Eric and Barry wield the additional authority of being combat veterans. Sometimes, on lighter topics, shoppers’ guides such as “Five Guns for the Zombie Apocalypse” or “Five Guns for Scaring Your Daughter’s Boyfriend,” Barry is replaced by the coming generation: trim, chipper, goateed Chad, who has a daughter on the way. And he will be, going forward: Professor Barry passed away in 2014 — but “his work lives on informing and inspiring the Second Amendment Community.”

Their presentations are lighthearted (and get millions of views), but Professor Barry made sure his viewers understood that this is serious business. In “The Psycology of Gun Ownership” (sic from the opening credits), he berated people who want to buy cheap guns, just to brandish them and scare people. Barry advised us to get a gun that we can handle, and practice until we’ve committed to reflex the skills needed to dispatch a dirtbag. Also, one should always carry two guns, because if an assailant manages to grab your weapon, he won’t expect you to have another one. That’s right, friends: it’s tough out there.

The Zombie Apocalypse is a key metaphor for these folks, “Preppers” who stockpile ammunition, arm themselves to the teeth and train to defend against a mindless, implacable enemy bent on taking their guns, their freedom, their women. (Who but Donald Trump has the courage to publicly warn us about the coming horde of Mexican rapists?) The views put forth in this YouTube channel (one of many) are self-reinforcing: of course they’ll be ridiculed by liberals, zombies, those who can’t handle the truth.

I have to say, though, that the frothy mix of moral fervor, righteous indignation and good ole shootin’ stuff leads to some unsettling images. Eric and Barry’s “Ghetto Marksmanship” segment is pretty creepy. Then there’s a channel called “Demolition Ranch” in which a frat bro from Texas A&M obliterates a pile of garbage with his Tec-9 automatic pistol. But the most nightmarish one I’ve found is an appalling promo for a new kind of ammo, with a serrated leading edge that “acts like a hole saw,” and flies apart into eight little chisels inside soft tissue. The spot is titled “ESAU Gone Rip You Niggas To Shreds RIP.” RIP (“Radically Invasive Projectile”) is the trademarked brand of the ammunition.

(I didn’t get the meaning of “ESAU” until I found this in The Urban Dictionary: “The greatest criminal ever to walk the Earth. Satan incarnate. Better known as the white man. Term comes from the biblical name for caucasians.” Oh. OK.)

Moss Pawn & Gun

The headquarters of Eric, Barry and Chad is Moss Pawn and Gun in Jonesboro, Georgia. The business offers loans on your car, boat, musical instrument, whatever; it buys old jewelry, and it sells a wide variety of fireams and ammunition.

Jonesboro is an old Georgia town that seems to have been engulfed by the sprawl that has crept, kudzu-like, out from Atlanta. Its population in 2010 was 4,724. It has a few notable southern-cultural items; much of the film Smokey and the Bandit was filmed in the town; Lynyrd Skynyrd took an album-cover photo there; the fictional plantation of Tara was five miles away. Jonesboro’s population is 73% African American; 20.2% of its population lives under the poverty line (34% of those under 18).

The Moss Pawn & Gun guys say nothing (in so many words) about racial issues. I feel certain that they would deny having any problem with (and would happily sell guns to) law-abiding citizens of any color. But, they do talk quite a bit about zombies, dirtbags, ghetto marksmanship, and strangers against whom they must protect themselves by wearing two guns. Poverty makes everything more difficult, and weather in Atlanta tends to be hot and humid. I think it is likely that Eric and Chad feel themselves to be, through no fault of their own, surrounded by a tense, hostile population that is struggling for bits of a shrinking economic pie. But they’re on top of it. They’re well-armed.

For Eric and Chad, and folks like them in an affinity group that is large enough to exert some serious grassroots political influence, The Second Amendment is the linchpin of the American way life. Hell, it’s pretty much all they’ve got left — after the 14th Amendment, Social Security, The United Nations, the Voting Rights Act and Obamacare. There’s no way to change that by trying to ban weapons. But, I can’t help thinking that if economic opportunities weren’t so scarce — if “our jobs” didn’t seem to be under such constant threat from “them” — then I suspect things could calm down a bit, and patriotic Americans wouldn’t need quite so much hardware.

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Whither Homo Economicus?

by Lindy Davies

You walk up to a food counter in a train station. You have five minutes to grab a bite before you have to board your morning train. A grumbling young woman, who exudes contempt for you and for every other customer in the line, charges you a premium price for a leathery, slapped-together breakfast sandwich which, nevertheless, takes another three minutes to get to you. She and her colleagues are distracted; each of them likely has a long list of personal problems — but all you know for sure is that she has made your breakfast transaction thoroughly unpleasant. You have encountered Homo Economicus.

eatit“Economic man” is a key template for economic analysis. It assumes that we respond to the problem of scarcity with profit-maximizing behavior— or in other words, we try to secure material gain in the hardest-nosed, most self-interested way. Many people are uncomfortable with this idea: is it a simplifying assumption — or is it simply nonsense? People bristle at the notion of self-interested maximization. What about fun? Family? Spiritual Life? Cat videos?

And, anyway, we are often observed choosing to do things that aren’t “economical.” Someone drives into a convenience store twelve days in a row and buys a soft drink. The buyer could make a single trip to a supermarket and buy a twelve-pack of same beverage for 40¢ less per bottle. Who knows what constitutes economic behavior? Perhaps the soda-drinker had a crush on the cashier. Perhaps he liked to thumb through the magazines on sale there. And, anyway, the soda has zero nutritional value, so it’s really hard to say what’s going on in any sort of practical terms, but, well — he keeps buying those sodas.

“Economic Man” in Economic History

This issue isn’t new; it was recognized by the classical economists. John Stuart Mill was the first to refer to “economic man.” He made it clear that he saw Homo Economicus not as the whole person, but only that part of the person which concerns the science of political economy,

…an arbitrary definition of man, as a being who inevitably does that by which he may obtain the greatest amount of necessaries, conveniences, and luxuries, with the smallest quantity of labour and physical self-denial with which they can be obtained.

Henry George added the clarifying insight that the desires we seek to satisfy are entirely subjective. Contra Adam Smith, George pointed out that our desires aren’t necessarily selfish; they might be spiritual, or altruistic. Whatever our desires are, anyway, we try to satisfy them with the least “irksome toil” (and, what constitutes “irksome toil” is also subjective: one person’s hard labor might be another’s best fun).

When we undertake irksome toil, unwilling to do so without compensation, seeking to do as little of it as we can — our behavior falls under the definition of Homo Economicus. Obviously, we want to spend as little time as possible in that state. We want to get mere profit-maximization out of the way so that we can enjoy our free time.

Despite the tremendous progress of labor-saving technology, there is still work that people have to do. People are still called upon to pick up garbage, change diapers, unclog drainpipes, guard convicts, seize territory, do laundry, teach children, serve all-night customers, patrol streets… and, even, write books. Will there ever be enough labor-saving inventions to get the Homo Economicus out of human lives? In Sacred Cows and Other Edibles, Nikki Giovanni offered an interesting point of view on this question:

I like my profession. I hope the telephone operators, the hamburger turner at McDonald’s, the pressure checker at Kentucky Fried who see to it that those spices and herbs get really deep in the chicken are proud, too.

colonelAt first, I thought Nikki Giovanni (whose poetry I like very much) was being facetious. She had the talent, drive and good fortune to enjoy a career as a poet. That didn’t necessarily make her life easy, but I think she’d choose it over frying chicken for Colonel Sanders. Eventually, though, I realized that her point is unassailable: if the chicken fryer doesn’t care about her work, everyone suffers. True, she is underpaid; most workers are. But, jobs are scarce: more personable and diligent workers are eager to take her place. Giovanni is telling us that, despite the manifest injustice of our society, one can still choose to be a person. Remember that young woman at the breakfast counter? She was resigned to being Homo Economicus — and you’re not going back to that breakfast counter, if you can possibly avoid it.

You might point out that it is in a worker’s economic interest to be more pleasant, so she can hold onto her job. But, I suspect that she cares very little for this job; she considers herself to be a worker, (impersonally, insultingly) hired to do a (dull, underpaid) job; perhaps her situation is a notch above abject slavery, but it’s not far above it. She is, in a word, alienated.

Is Social Progress Linear?

“Alienation” is something that Marxist theory has a lot to say about; indeed, it is said to be the basic condition of workers under the capitalist more of production. Marx saw workers as suffering from a four-fold alienation: from the things they made, from the process of making them, from their own selfhood, and from other workers. This cubicle of alienation in which workers (inevitably) find themselves is a big part of the reason why Marxist theory sees revolution inevitable, and capitalism doomed.

Others, however — such as Henry George — see the possibility of fundamental reforms that would make a market economy work for everyone. If we all seek to reduce the amount of irksome toil we have to to perform, it follows that a progressive society would be able to reduce the net amount of time that its people spend behaving as Homo Economicus. This would imply a continuum of social progress. At the bottom is slavery: a slave, compelled to perform “irksome toil” to survive and avoid punishment, is pure Homo Economicus. At the top, we might find an artist: getting paid for for work that was done for the sheer joy of doing it.

Then there is the joyous, painful endeavor of raising children — where does that come in on the scale?

Let’s consider a few examples:

Autoworker Aaron works for $17/hr in a nonunion Toyota plant, and has to make a decision about whether to join a union. He decides against it, because $17/hr is better than any alternative that’s available to him, and he doesn’t want to jeopardize his job.

Autoworker Betty is a member of the Communist party working at the Totota plant, and works behind the scenes to organize coworkers. Her activism is frowned on by her supervisors, who stick her with unpleasant tasks and don’t recommend her for promotion.

Dad Charlie chooses to forgo his career and stay home with the kids. His wife makes good money, but has a stressful, long-hours, fast-track career. Charlie’s role as a home support person makes it all work.

Mom Diane chooses to forgo her career and stay home with the kids. They’ve moved to a low-rent area and her husband is working part-time. They don’t have much money, but they have plenty of time together as a family.

Mom Ellen and dad Frank both work full-time. The kids are in pre-school, and after-school activities. They need to do this to keep up with their mortgage and all the other payments, and try to put some money away for the kids’ college educations.

Dad Greg and mom Harriet would both be working full time, if they could both find jobs. As it is, they work as they can, often on conflicting schedules. They’ve had to get help from friends and family to get by, and finding responsible supervision for the kids is a constant challenge.

diyNeighbor Ian worked overtime to save up enough to hire a contractor to build an addition to his house. Neighbor Jim made sure to have a flexible work schedule (at a lower pay scale) and built his home addition himself.

Can you divide the Homo Economicus behavior from the “for my own good reasons” personal behavior? Which of those examples do you admire? Which do you feel pity for? The further we rise, economically, above abject servitude, the more ambiguous this question gets. It gets harder to separate the time we spend making a living from the time time we spend pursuing personal satisfaction — each blends into the other.

The question is by no means simple. A progressive society, as we’ve seen, is one that succeeds in reducing the net amount if time its people spend as Homo Economicus. But, if we cannot clearly separate out the portion of our labor time we spend that way, then how can we make that distinction? How can we tell (in the aggregate) whether we are gaining or losing?

On the other hand, “gaining,” in the sense of moving along the line on which society is advancing (or retreating) might not be the only option, or the best way to look at things. Marxist theory sees human society as moving along a time-line from feudalism, through capitalism, on the way to socialism and the Workers’ Paradise. Henry George’s conception of social development also sees society as moving along a line, either forward toward a progressive society that maximizes both association and equality, or regressing, failing the promise of civilization, declining into a new dark age. Marx, I suppose, would transform Homo Economicus into Homo Comunismus, a fit and happy team player. Henry George would reduce Homo Economicus to a vestige, no more onerous or stressful than brushing one’s teeth. (Some versions of Marxist utopia, as well, have technological development enabling workers to sample many jobs and switch them at will.) These outcomes are, at best, a long way off. In the meantime, is self-interested maximixation all we have to look forward to? (Or as Nikki Giovanni put it, “Spam, Used Cars, and More of the Same”?)

When was Homo Economicus Born?

It may be, however, that in terms of economic behavior, society does not move in a line. There may also be a recursive process at work. Another possible starting point for social/economic development is the traditional society. There are various kinds of traditional societies, of course, but compared to the paradigm we’d call modern, industrial or developed, there are things they have in common. I think it would be accurate to say that the behavior we’ve been calling Homo Economicus was rarely, if ever, exhibited in traditional societies. True, there were fights over land and resources, and there was even slavery. There was drudgery and hardship; winters were long; lifespans were short. Nevertheless, in no indigenous culture was it the norm for people to spend substantial portions of their time performing meaningless tasks in exchange for things. We take this behavior for granted; our ancestors didn’t.

likitIn an earlier stage of industrial development the “labor time” model made perfect sense. It didn’t matter that the work might be meaningless, because the efficiency of industrial production made it possible for everyone to be better off. As productivity continued to increase, workers could organize to collectively bargain for better wages. In the United States this process reached its peak in the industrial golden age of the 1950s and 60s. While not everyone was happy (African Americans, for example, were effectively excluded from the general prosperity), millions of US workers were quite happy to get paid $25 an hour, with pensions, health plans and paid vacations, for being Homo Economicus.

It seemed like such a good plan: you get a decent job, put in the hours, get raises, buy a house (a comfortably appreciating asset), raise kids, send them to college, and then get rewarded for your career of homo economizing by settling into a well-provisioned retirement. But then “our jobs” started getting sent overseas, real wages stagnated or fell, and things started getting confusing. Raising a family started to require two full-time salaries. In the prevailing myth, June Cleaver and her friends had happily done the cooking and the childcare as their part of the family bargain. Now, suddenly, they were too busy, and these “household” tasks increasingly became part of the economy. Should June have received Homo Economicus wages for handling all those poopy diapers?

Such a question would never have come up among the unassimilated Sioux, or Inuit, or Australian Aborigines, the Kalahari Bushmen, or the artists of Lascaux or Mesa Verde. Such societies had their problems, to be sure, but alienation, in the sense that Karl Marx described, was not one of them. The Georgist economist Fred Foldvary put it this way:

Human beings did not start out poor, hungry, needing development. Primal man had natural wealth from the bounty of nature. Only after humanity turned to agriculture and conquerors took the land did the brave hunter become a lowly peasant working for a wage pittance from dawn to dusk while the lord dined on wine and game hens under chandeliers. Only after the descent to serfdom does development beckon with the promise of increasing productivity.

It has long struck me that the economic analysis of Henry George, dealing as it does with the pervasive, unavoidable role of land in society, offers a key theoretical bridge between traditional and modern ways of seeing the economy. When indigenous people admonish European colonists that “The land does not belong to us; we belong to the land,” they are not being romantic. They are making an entirely reasonable and true statement that arises from a worldview in which there is no Homo Economicus. That statement only seems quaint from the point of view of industrial society, which is predicated on owning the land and controlling its resources.

digitBut: industrial society has reached a turning point. We can no longer afford to reckon “economic growth” without factoring in its effect on the natural world. And we live in a dysfunctional society in which, in James Baldwin’s words, “not even the most spectacular recipients of this prosperity are able to endure these benefits; they can neither understand them, nor do without them, nor can they go beyond them.” (Soccer moms cannot escape this dilemma in their SUVs.)

I think we need to return — without turning away from the benefits of science and technology, for there can be nothing evil in science and technology per se, only in the self-serving uses to which we put them — to a life in which we are part of where we live, in which we are nurtured and informed by our place and our community. By doing so, we may be able to develop a sustainable understanding of “economic growth.” And then we can finally put Homo Economicus to rest. Not because there will no longer be work to do — but because the challenges of devising a sustainable future will leave us no time for the “irksome toil” that industrial development so usefully, efficiently, imposed on us. What we have to do will be too important not to care about. We will have to keep it real.

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On National Sovereignty

by Lindy Davies

It’s become a convention, on the news, to refer to the Jihadist force that’s been gaining ground in Iraq and Syria as the “so-called” Islamic State. This seems to be a requirement. Sure, they call themselves a state — but they’re not! States are sovereign. They have governments, and ambassadors and such; they have seats in the UN General Assembly — like Syria, for example.

What is it, really, that constitutes a sovereign nation?

To begin with, it has to do with authority and control; we think of it as “where the buck stops.” It may be comforting to think of this as an absolute thing (i.e., Israel absolutely has it; the Palestinians absolutely don’t). But it is not all-or-nothing, of course; there are degrees. The “national sovereignty” of a place like “The Republic of South Vietnam” (or post-Dubya Iraq) is an evanescent thing, crafted on the fly to suit the interests of a larger power. Nevertheless, international diplomacy rests, however shakily, on the concept of national sovereignty. So far in human history, is nations that make and enforce laws. International law is an ad hoc matter. It is enacted by means of treaties, and only enforced at the national level, if nations choose to do so. (Has the International Criminal Court ever compelled the United States to do anything?)

Nations have various degrees of power, and various degrees, alas, of legitimacy. If the nation is not powerful enough, it may fall to conquest by external powers. But what if it is not legitimate enough? The (so-called!) Islamic State’s legitimacy is bestowed by Allah — the same Deity that confers legitimacy, via the Queen, to land tenure in Great Britain. (It has to be the same Deity: both faiths believe there is only one.) The classical Chinese concept of national legitimacy was called “The Mandate of Heaven.” It was thought possible for a ruling dynasty to lose this, become illegitimate, and become deposed. If a nation is not legitimate enough, therefore, it may succumb to internal revolutionary forces.

Eventually, Divine bestowal of sovereign power came to be vested in hereditary monarchs. In the minds of the Enlightenment philosophers, however, sovereignty came to rest in the incontestable, and infallible, will of the people. Thomas Jefferson, for example, wrote that governments are instituted to secure the people’s inalienable rights, and that their powers — if they are just — are derived from the consent of the governed.

This raises questions. Who are “the governed”? How is their consent ascertained? How, and where, and in what ways are they to be “governed” — presumably through the exercise of the sovereign powers of a “government” which the people have chosen? According to Jefferson, a governments just powers are derived from the consent of the governed — and it wields those powers through the process of creating and enforcing laws. Does this mean that if a majority of a nation’s citizens decide, through some representative process, that slavery is OK, then slavery is OK? Well, it’s legal, anyway; fee-simple private ownership of human beings was legal in the United States for 75 years.

verb
“Nation is a verb.”

Furthermore, the idea of government cannot be separated from the question of jurisdiction. Over what area does sovereign control extend? There is no global government. Our concept of sovereignty is inextricably bound up with the idea of nationhood. Now, sometimes we might speak of a “nation” in spiritual or cultural terms — a holy covenant? a community brought together by its victimhood? a romantic generational consciousness, such as the “Woodstock Nation”? But, in stark political terms, such notions are frivolous. In the “real world,” nationhood is a matter of jurisdiction over a defined portion of the planet: a territory — a piece of land.

Job #1 for any nation is the administration of its territory: its boundaries and their defense; the duties and prerogatives of states, municipalities and other lesser jurisdictions; and — most important — what people can do with that territory: what rights they have to its possession and use. This has obvious economic implications, because all economic activity must use land in some way. It is incumbent upon a sovereign nation to set rules concerning how people use the land: to make stuff, to live on, and to dump their garbage in.

Fine, OK — all of this sounds so commonplace as to hardly be worth mentioning. But, when we start to think about how these issues play out, we find some astounding breaches of logic.

Many smart people have told us that international trade agreements, such as the Trans-Pacific Partnership, or TPP, dangerously erode national sovereignty. Democratic societies have repeatedly chosen to implement regulations deemed necessary to protect health, safety and the environment. Pacts like the TPP seem to be taking these powers away from governments.  I wonder how many citizens in struggling, export-dependent poor countries have any inkling what prerogatives their “sovereign governments” have given away in order to stave off trade sanctions.

But it’s not just the poor countries that are “yielding up their sovereignty” to multinational corporations — oh, no! Lots of people in the Great and Powerful USA are exercised about the increasing ease with which corporations reconfigure their profits into other jurisdictions to avoid paying “their fair share” of US taxes. Have the governed given their consent to that? Perhaps not, but the Emperor, in any case, has made it legal.

If Job #1 of a nation is to administer its territory, what can we say of a country that allows private investors to hold hundreds of thousands of hectares of that territory entirely idle, while its people have no place to make a living? Hasn’t that nation’s sovereignty been seriously degraded?

Furthermore, if a corporation is making “obscene” levels of profit in the United States and then paperworking them into another country to avoid taxes, well — did it not need land, locations and natural resources, to undertake the activities that created those profits? Did it fully compensate the community for the privilege of using that land?

Questions like these have a way of making one’s head swim. They seem to sudden, too sweeping. One is tempted to back-track to see whether some key factor has been left out. That impulse is both understandable and necessary — because in today’s discussions of economic policy a key factor is left out.

So let’s back-track. We’ve said that the most vital task of a nation is the administration of its territory. It defends against invasion, creates and enforces laws, and provides all kinds of infrastructure, both civil and physical. To the extent that nations do these things effectively, they become pleasant and prosperous places to live and do business. And to the extent that they become pleasant and prosperous places, the land in them — most of which is held in fee simple by private interests — increases in value.

land

Any nation that allows fee-simple ownership of land has already — long since — yielded up its sovereignty to private interests. These recent “sovereign giveaways” are just minor embellishments. We can close the barn door if we like, but the horse is long gone.

One of the many things this means is that, while the TPP will exacerbate a number of problems, the solution to those problems is not to be found in protectionism. “Local self-sufficiency” will only make the local landlords a bit less rich.

There was a West African nation that took a series of effective steps to assert its own rightful sovereignty — have you heard of it? It began with a military coup — nothing very noteworthy in that; there are lots of military coups — but this one set out to implement a novel program of reform. The country defaulted on its foreign debt. It proceeded to abolish all income taxes, VATs and tariffs, and to collect the value of land for its public revenue. And what happened? It no longer needed exports, or foreign loans, because its domestic markets were strong, its employment full. The most serious policy problem it had to deal with was the large numbers of people who wanted to immigrate. This country’s name is Alodia — but, alas, it is fictional. So far.

 

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Counting the Zeros: Fighter Jets vs Trains

by Lindy Davies

I once introduced a paper at a conference with the laugh line, “Many of the papers you’ll hear this week make extensive use of mathematics, but mine is a bit different: it makes extensive use of arithmetic.” The economists in the audience knew what I was getting at: minutiae can be examined in fascinating (sometimes Nobel-winning) detail, but often the really important points are made by keeping track of the relevant orders of magnitude — in other words, by counting the zeros.

Here’s an example, to get us started. How many days, months, whatever, does it take for a million seconds to go by? I whipped out my calculator and discovered that a million seconds equals about 11.6 days. Surprised? Well, then, how about a billion seconds? That’s a thousand times longer: 31.7 years. The next one is easier, because we’re sticking with the same unit, but it boggles the mind nevertheless: a trillion seconds equals 31,709 years.

Let’s explore the wonders of zero-counting by comparing and contrasting a couple of lines in the budget of the United States.

Amtrak’s Northeast Corridor Passenger Rail ServiceThe F35 “Lightning” Joint Strike Fighter
— relatively inexpensive; mildly profitable— most expensive weapon in history
— deeply maligned, desperately underfunded— despite criticism, lavishly funded
— used by over 11 million passengers annually— appropriations shared by contractors in 46 states
— ridership increasing as highway congestion worsens— not yet cleared to fly in inclement weather

Dear reader, you can probably see where I’m going with this, but please bear with me: the numbers involved are noteworthy.

owow

The F35 is, in terms of its design parameters, one seriously groovy airplane. It is a “fifth-generation” fighter jet, intended to supersede a number of the fighter jets that are now in use. It is called “joint strike” because the basic plane would be used, with some modifications, by various branches of the military in different missions: fly from carriers for the Navy, take off and land vertically for the Marines, evade radar detection, and locate enemy fighters long before they’re able to locate it. Its pilot will wear a helmet designed to make the plane an extension of his brain; all manner of information will be displayed right before his eyes; next-level optics will allow the pilot to see through the plane as if it were transparent. This is majorly awesome, sci-fi stuff. Lockheed Martin puts it this way:

The supersonic, multi-role F-35 represents a quantum leap in air dominance capability with enhanced lethality and survivability in hostile, anti-access airspace environments…. Missions traditionally performed by specialized aircraft — air-to-air combat, air-to-ground strikes, electronic attack, intelligence, surveillance and reconnaissance — can now be executed by a squadron of F-35s.

However, alas, the F35 is also far behind schedule, and way over budget. “A single Air Force F-35A costs a whopping $148 million.” writes Winslow Wheeler, for the Project on Government Oversight. “One Marine Corps F-35B costs an unbelievable $251 million. A lone Navy F-35C costs a mind-boggling $337 million. Average the three models together, and a ‘generic’ F-35 costs $178 million.” That’s per plane — and, because the F35 is being tested as it is produced, and faulty systems must be retrofitted on planes that are already being flown, the per-plane cost is likely to increase.

The following cost figures for the F35 program were reported by CBS news: $400 billion will be spent to buy 2,400 aircraft — twice as much, in constant dollars, as the Apollo program. To date, the F35 program is $163 billion over budget. It will cost approximately $1.5 trillion over the life of the program. In 2014 we spent approximately $6 billion on the F35.

Maybe you didn’t hear me. I said: twice the cost of the Apollo Program.

Reasonable people can disagree about the urgency of the United States’s need for this airplane. The stated mission is to assert overwhelming superiority, in any aerial combat mission, over any plane the Russians or Chinese might plan to build in the foreseeable future. The US already has a fifth-generation fighter in service, the F22A Raptor — which itself costs some $150 million per unit and, according to the US Air Force, “cannot be matched by any known or projected fighter aircraft.” Only Russia has any plane that is even remotely comparable, and Russia is obviously throwing much less money at the problem than the US is.

Political Engineering

The thing about the F35, though, it that its development and manufacture is distributed with great skill through a multiplicity of key Congressional districts. “Lockheed takes every opportunity to remind politicians that the airplane is manufactured in 46 states and is responsible for more than 125,000 jobs and $16.8 billion in “economic impact” to the US economy….” wrote Adam Ciralsky in Vanity Fair. “Political engineering has foiled any meaningful opposition on Capitol Hill, in the White House, or in the defense establishment.”

To make a long story short: it is virtually certain that — whether we need it, or can afford it, or not — we’re going to have the F35 “Lightning” Joint Strike Fighter. That nickname, by the way, is ironic, because the F35 has not yet been cleared to fly within twenty miles of a thunderstorm.

f35

Fixing Our Trains

Amtrak, the US’s much-maligned passenger rail system, operates 21,300 miles of routes. But, for the purpose of our present comparison, we’ll concentrate on the 471-mile segment that actually turns a profit: the Northeast Corridor. This is the rail service between Washington, DC and Boston, on which Amtrak carried 11.4 million passengers last year. It is only on this route that Amtrak operates its Acela express trains, which can go over 150 mph — they can, at least, on the few sections of track that are in good enough repair. Amtrak owns and maintains these tracks, which are also used by commuter-rail systems in DC, Baltimore, Philadelphia, New York and Boston — and some of them have gotten quite rickety over the years.

To pick one of many examples, the Portal Bridge over the Hackensack River in New Jersey is 100 years old and carries 450 trains a day — if things stay on schedule. The old swinging drawbridge causes many delays. It would cost $900 million to replace it with fixed bridge. Republicans have harshly criticized Amtrak for many years — and they can’t all be wrong; it’s likely that there is some significant degree of inefficiency and inertia in Amtrak’s program. The House of Representatives recently voted to cut Amtrak funding for the coming year to the tune of one and two-thirds F35s ($260 million) — the very day after a deadly derailment outside of Philadelphia.

This seemed an exceptionally spiteful move, even for Congress. This particular accident was probably caused by human error. But it could have been prevented, had a “Positive Train Control” system been in place; a 2008 law requires it to be implemented by the end of this year. Such systems are routinely used across Europe. Amtrak, however, is strapped for funds. Its “Vision Statement for the Northeast Corridor” laments:

In the New York vicinity, some areas are operating at 100% capacity, resulting in significant delays from even minor operating disturbances. The [Northeast Corridor] consists of a mix of aging infrastructure, much of it built 80-150 years ago, that will require extensive repair for safe and efficient operations at current traffic levels.

Folks, that’s like commuting to work every day at 70 mph. in an old VW beetle that only goes that fast (and has a tendency to overheat). Nothing against the beetle, but — how long could you count on that?

 

late

Reasonable people can disagree about the efficacy of subsidized passenger rail service in the megalopolis between DC and Boston. I don’t think anyone disputes, however, that the highways in that region are getting more congested all the time, and that reliable, reasonably-priced intercity rail service wouldn’t be a bad thing. But, can we trust Amtrak to provide that? Not according to Rep. John Mica (R-FL), who said this on the day of the budget vote: “The problem is you give Amtrak the money and they blow the improvements or squander it. Congress does not trust Amtrak. They’ve given them the money before.” Mica’s largest campaign contributor is the air travel industry.

Let’s talk numbers

Amtrak’s overall operation was $329 million in the red for 2014, but its Northeast Corridor service made a profit of $286 million. You heard that right: that means that the 20,829 miles of non-NEC Amtrak routes are subsidized by over half a billion dollars a year! That’s fully ten percent of what we spend annually on the F35 “Lightning” Joint Strike Fighter! (And, it’s eight percent of what the British government spends annually on passenger rail.)

Amtrak’s “Vision for the Northeast Corridor,” offers various proposals for improving service and reliability, which are echoed in somewhat greater detail in a report by the by the Federal Railroad Administration. The proposals are graded, A through D, in escalating wish-lists. The ones in section A amount to simply maintaining existing capacity (which nevertheless calls for some rather expensive catching up). The suggestions in section D, though, are the stuff of Republican apoplexy; they propose to:

transform the role of rail, so that the rail system would accommodate a significantly higher percentage of travelers and passengers, enabling new travel patterns and new markets to be served… positioning rail as a dominant mode. This would be accomplished through a major increase in the capacity of the NEC along its entire length, service to new markets, and a dramatic reduction in trip times.

What the heck, you might as well ask for what you want. This dramatic vision (including such luxuries as replacing the Portal Bridge in Hackensack), this pie-in-the-sky wish list, way more than Congress would ever appropriate, this tremendous infrastructure enhancement that would make life so much more efficient and convenient in the Northeast (not to mention conferring significant environmental benefits) — this commie-liberal subsidized rail boondoggle — would be gradually implemented between now and 2040, at a projected cost of $151 billion. That would amount to about $6 billion per year. Does that figure sound familiar? It’s the amount that we spent in 2014 on the F35 “Lightning” Joint Strike Fighter.

To reiterate: the total projected cost of the most ambitious plan for a long-term upgrade of Northeast Corridor Rail infrastructure is $151 billion. The amount by which the F35 program is over budget, so far, is $163 billion. It really helps to count the zeros.

Two P. S.’s

1) It is widely known by economists and smart people everywhere that quality public transportation facilities increase real estate values. The city of London has capitalized on this obvious fact to fund rail improvements with levies on the windfall gains that the railroads have created. In Florida, a private concern, Florida East Coast Industries, has bought up lots of land around the terminals of a passenger rail service it plans to introduce between Miami and Orlando. Indeed, this is exactly the way the transcontinental railroads in the US were financed. Financing passenger rail improvements with taxes on land values is an easy, sensible and fair policy; we should start doing it immediately!

2) By the way: If you really want to get your mind boggled, you gotta check out Wikipedia’s page on Orders of Magnitude!

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Economics is Easy — Once You See the Trick!

by Lindy Davies

Last week, we found ourselves in between washing machines, the old one having died before the replacement arrived. So, when the laundry piled up, I drove 20 miles into town. To be honest I wasn’t upset about this. I had some correspondence-course lessons to read and grade while I waited. I shouldered the two big bags, secure in the knowledge that the foliage along the route was breathtaking, and the next couple of hours wouldn’t overtax me. I dumped my loads in machines, found a plastic chair near the door and started in on my paperwork.

A mother and daughter came dancing in and started piling and sorting with pizazz. I felt fortunate to have the paraphernalia of my work to look busy with, as I watched them. The mom was a beauty: quite short, flamboyantly redheaded and freckled. She had a laughing, elvish air — except that her eyes seemed to belong to a wiser and older being: bright, deep grey, creased and wry. The little girl was about six, and a bit darker — auburn instead of fiery red — and clearly thought her mom was the coolest person in the entire universe.

The mother was teaching the daughter the technique of the Old Shell Game, using three bottle caps and a little red pill. She would say “Timing, honey!” and “Don’t watch your hands, punkin,” and “Fold that pinky under…” while the girl practiced with tongue-clamped diligence.

I was so busy pretending not to watch that I missed the fact that I was being watched: she appeared — Presto! at my side. “I’ve read this book.” She was holding my copy of Progress and Poverty. “Jeez, that takes me back to a weird time in my life. It was the guy who taught me sleight-of-hand, a fascinating and evil fellow. The book was on his shelf; I don’t know if he ever read it.” She shook the book a few times as if its ideas rattled with a familiar sound. “I wasn’t feeling that much need to sleep, in those days.” She laid a finger beside her nose, rolled her eyes and gave a small sniff, as if to explain. “I think I must’ve read this thing straight through. But I haven’t thought about it in a long time.”

I asked her if she were still a sleight-of-hand artist. “Not professionally, but — yeah, I can pretty much direct the eyes away from the business at hand.” I followed her eyes to the little girl, who was struggling to retrieve the little red pill from beneath one of the washing machines. “Monica! Jeez.” Monica’s mom produced a little bottle of ibuprophen from her bag and took out another pill. “Really. Take it easy, honey!”

Monica accepted the pill sheepishly and went right back to practicing. “I keep gettin on the wrong side of it.”

“My name’s Ramona.” She thrust out a hand as if to shake mine, and handed me my wallet. “There you go. My husband and I and the girl moved up here two years ago from Ohio, where we learned Henry George’s lesson the hard way.”

I introduced myself, trying to stay cool as I replaced the wallet in my back pocket, and explained that I’d also just moved to the area, with wife and boy, from New York City.

“I think I could’ve liked New York,” Ramona mused, “Lots of decent magicians there. So, are you a Henry Georgist?”

I admitted that. I asked Ramona what she had meant about learning Henry George’s ideas the hard way.

“Ohh, that’s a story that old Henry George would appreciate. Do you have time for a story? I suppose you do.” She looked far away for a moment, as if the tale might be too sibylline for chance encounters in laundromats. “Ahh, well. I met my husband, Greg, when he picked me up hitch-hiking at the corner of High and Gay streets in Columbus, Ohio. I had sustained a few beatings at that point. Inside and outside. High and gay. My self-image was lower than it needed to be.”

At some point, as Ramona said on, I noticed that little Monica’s hands had stopped moving, and mine had, too.

“Our experiences could hardly have been more different, but emotionally we were in the same low place. He thought he wasn’t worth a shit, and I knew I wasn’t — but, he was in for the long haul. I went on to have love affairs with his three best friends —  before my, y’know, my personal mud settled to the bottom of the pond — who knows how, or why, people’s lives get knitted together? The five of us shared a huge adventure. You know, I said he fell for me, but I wasn’t his first love. Greg’s first love was the earth under his home town, Elmwood, Ohio. There were things to love about that town; he made me sorta love it, too. One of those things was the ancient Indian mounds they have in Central Ohio. Some of them are famous, but most aren’t. Some were plowed over by farmers before anybody knew. Anyway, one day he took me on a hike, past the golf course, through a stand of woods, over a crik, y’know, a walk like that was his favorite thing to do — but he wanted to show me this place he called Dragon Hill. So we got through to the edge of the woods, and there was a little hill, very steep, not like any of the other hills around there, with one old, gnarled maple tree on it. He said there was this shape, this effigy on the top of the hill. He said it had a long coiled tail. We climbed up; I stood there. I couldn’t see anything but grass. Greg took my hand and stooped down to make me feel this little depression in the ground on the hilltop — just a, little depression, maybe the size of a bowling ball, but smoothed-out. This meant nothing to me. But then he walked me four steps over, stooped down again and made me feel this rock — this dark red, smooth, polished rock that was like three-quarters buried in the ground, and — My God! It was the thing’s eye. And there it was, I saw the head, the legs, the coiled tail, just like it had — risen out of the ground, before my eyes! And I went and grabbed this poor guy and tackled him, just about had his clothes ripped off before I realized what I was doing.” She lifted up both her hands, palms upward. “I don’t know what it was. I don’t know — what it was. The sex thing was just — panic. I was shaking! He was too. Something. Had happened. To us. At that place. I’m shaking now, thinking about it.”

Ramona tossed her head quickly about, walked over and quickly tickled Monica’s armpit, and gestured for her to go back to practicing her shell game. “It was Greg’s idea to build a house there. Not for our little nuclear family; that came later. We decided to build a place for the five of us, we were going to make create our own kind of family. After a while, the other three started calling us ‘Mom and Dad’ — it was a kind of mean joke on Greg, and yet it was also kind of true. Somehow those years just seemed to happen, without my say-so — it was a long, sweet story, with just enough pain.”

One of her washers stopped spinning and clicked off. She spun back to her work, emptying little-girl and old-man clothes into one of the wheeled baskets. As she went on with her story, she made wordless comments, gigglingly affirmed by Monica, about the rippedness or dorkyness of various bits of clothing.

“Dragon Hill was on farm that was owned by this crumpled-up woman named Jimison. I never knew her first name. She lived by herself in a big, old farmhouse. We went and asked her if she’d sell us a little piece of land containing the hill. She kept us standing there on the porch for a long time. Finally she said, Yeah, you can have it; it’s no good to me. But I won’t take money for it. She turned this evil eye of hers toward Greg, and she said, I’ve seen you up there. Yes, I’ve seen you. You bring me the dragon’s other eye, and you can have the hill. I am like, The dragon’s other eye? Are you fucking kidding me? But I had to hand it to Greg, he kept his cool. He asked her if that was really her deal. She said yes. And you know what? It never occurred to him not to believe her. Greg started right in doing research. And then, I couldn’t leave, y’know? I mean, how could I have left, in the middle of this? He haunted the local library, he talked to all the old folks who might remember something. Somehow he managed to track down this old guy, this guy out of some weird movie. He lived in a shack beside a tobacco farm in North Carolina. The old guy had, there, in his shack, beside a tobacco field in North Carolina, a smooth dark-red stone about the size of a bowling ball. Greg suffered some broken bones getting his hands on that stone. I wasn’t along on that trip, and I never got the whole story, but — well, that October, he came back. Walking on crutches, straining to carry the stone in a vinyl bowling-ball bag. He rested and healed through the winter. As soon as the ground thawed next spring, we set the other eye back in the dragon’s head. Jimison couldn’t believe it. She acted almost as scared of us as we were of her. Looking back now, I think it was her reaction — how freaked-out she seemed — that made me suspect the whole thing was real. She said, Take it! It’s yours. And slammed the door in our face.”

I could still hear the tiny scraping of little Monica’s bottle caps on the smooth table, but every other conversation, whining kid, spin cycle, dryer alarm had gone silent, as if to give Ramona a few seconds, all she could get, with what she remembered. I was, of course, dumb; I couldn’t have spoken to claim a Megabucks prize.

“We started digging, like we never dug before! We disturbed — respectfully I hope — someone’s ancient rest. That was a crazy day. We got sore, sorely tired and sore. Our three strong men did most of the physical work. Vallorie and I were less doughty, so we took jobs, to keep our homestead stocked with tools and food. And we got an apartment — for our evil selves — with a hot shower that the guys appreciated. We spent a whole summer and a fall, ramming earth. Very, very, very slowly we built ourselves a house out of rammed earth and local timber, with a nice-drawing chimney and an airtight wood stove. And we were comfy there, for a little while. The five of us. But — before long, those three started drifting off into their own lives, as we all knew, without ever saying so, that they would. They would come over on Saturdays to Mom and Dad’s house; they’d still help get the firewood in. But the writing on the wall was — we actually did have writing on the wall, by the way, our walls were decorated with hundreds of quotes and sayings, you could spend a very happy forty minutes walking around and reading them. And then little Monica came along.”

I suddenly had a vision of this Greg fellow, helplessly smitten from the start, waiting and waiting, finally turning over one wintry morning to embrace his heart’s desire. I whispered, “You were all set.”

“It seemed that way. Yes, it did. I had old lovers who’d become my best friends, I had a husband who adored me, I had a beautiful little girl — I don’t know where this munchkin came from —”

Monica blew a big wet raspberry.

“And, are you familiar with rammed-earth construction? It’s really like nothing else. It seems like a natural rock formation. In the shape of — your house. So, you see. We had every right to that little piece of land, we’d put blood, sweat, hard work and spirit into it; we built a thing that will be there as long as that dragon will. But old Jimison taught us Henry George’s lesson the hard way. Ohh, yes, she did. One morning a gang of heavy equipment came banging up Jimison’s lane. She wasn’t there. She was nowhere to be found. Pretty slick, huh? We had never seen a ‘for sale’ sign — but she took the proceeds from her farm, and blew off to wherever the hell she blew off to. I have to admit, I kind of admired that. She was calm and cool while she played us.”

“Holy shit. So you got nothing?”

“Not quite that melodramatic. There were no legal documents of any kind, but the whole county had seen us building our house — hell, the local paper had come out to interview us. We were told that we could recover the value of the house — good thing they didn’t know how ill-prepared we were to sue anybody! But the developers settled. They gave us fifteen thousand dollars, with which we paid down on ten nice acres over on Knox Ridge. And I assure you that we have full, legal title to this bit of real estate.”

Those new-moon eyes of hers let me know, that she knew, that I could think of nothing to say; she didn’t mind, and besides, there was laundry to finish. She gave Monica a loud kiss on the head and we went back to work, she to folding, and I to distractedly staring at my lessons, as my dryer-loads finally got going.

Maybe ten minutes later, Ramona came back over to me. “You know, I just remembered something about that book, Progress and Poverty. You know what really impressed me about it? What really made me think this guy’s kind of a genius?”

“What?”

“It’s where he says that economics is easy, once you see the trick.” Ramona seized the three bottle caps from Monica, whose eyes lit up. While she spoke, she began to whip the caps around, and neither her little apprentice nor I had the slightest chance of following that pill. “The odds are definitely against you!” Ramona grinned. “But no, I’m serious. Why would I have remembered a book about economics? Feh! It’s the opposite of a sexy subject. I mean the exact opposite. Your turn, honey!”

Monica went back to her laundry-table stage, wiped her hands professionally on the front of her overalls, and said, “Follow the rent, bet you can’t!” She deftly shifted the caps around for a while, revealing the little red pill here and there, and then she gave me an opportunity to choose, while her mom, loading a dryer, watched with pride. I picked. The pill wasn’t there, of course, although I did sort of see the technique through which it came not to be. I didn’t let on, but Monica said, “Rats. My pinkies are too small!”

“Honey, how can they be too small, if they keep getting in the way?” Ramona winked at her. “You’ve almost got it!”

I ventured to comment, “She’s going to make lots of money, before long.”

“Oh, no, no, that’s not what it’s about, and she knows it. Nimble fingers are useful things, but I don’t believe in gambling, anymore.”

“I see. So, no mother and daughter streetcorner hustles, huh? Wow, the two of you could clean up in Central Park.”

“No ill-gotten gains for Monie and Monnie. In fact if I ever find out she’s extorted so much as a nickel from any other kid, she’s gonna be in truh-bull! Right, my darling?” Monica gave us a very big and sober nod, but there was a sparkle behind it.

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Keystone XL: This Far. No Further.

“We will close our reservation borders to Keystone XL. Authorizing Keystone XL is an act of war against our people.”
— Cyril Scott, President, Rosebud Sioux Tribe

“Get off my land!” That injunction, which calls to mind a rifle-wielding homesteader, protecting hearth and home against intruders — is about as American an image as you can think of.

The civil infrastructure behind that image is less storied, but equally consequential. There is scarcely a square inch of North American land whose tenure is not duly recorded and righteously enforced, down to the pickiest easement or lien. Americans believe in land ownership.

A big infrastructure project, such as an oil pipeline — or a highway, or a railroad — must pass through many boundaries, and its legal right to do so must, in every case, be secured, purchased, negotiated — or conquered. There are many layers of irony in the fact that the biggest, most fraught and controversial pipeline project of the new century could be stopped by a band of people in tipis, saying “No further.”
Many people have heard of the Keystone XL pipeline. A fair number have even marched against it. However, readers may not have a clear idea of the overall industrial context; in other words, they might not know how many oil pipelines there are: some 185,000 miles of them, crisscrossing the United States, carrying every kind of crude oil and refined petroleum product. About 55,000 miles of these are “crude oil trunk lines,” of which the Keystone XL represents the large variety. It is planned to be three feet in diameter (the trans-Alaska pipeline is the biggest, with a diameter of four feet). Its daily capacity is projected to be around 830,000 barrels of crude per day.

It’s hard to get your mind around something as huge as oil consumption in the United States. The US currently uses 18.89 million barrels of oil per day; this figure is down from a high of 20.9 million in 2006. That seems like a lot. How can we visualize it? Let’s think of it in terms of tanker trucks: the big semis that pull up to fill tanks at your local gas station. Such a tanker carries about 5,000 gallons, or 895 barrels of gasoline. That means that today’s United States uses 21,106 tankerfuls of oil every day. Each of those trucks is about 60 feet long; if we put them all on a road with an average of three feet of space between them, we’d be looking at 252 miles of semi trucks. And, of course, we don’t consume crude oil, we consume refined petroleum products, which means that the oil has to be transported at least twice. That means that, at a minimum, the US’s daily oil-transportation needs would fill four lanes of the entire length of the New Jersey Turnpike bumper-to-bumper with tank trucks, with a few thousand more waiting on the on-ramps. Tanker trucks, of course, really only make sense for dispensing finished products; most crude oil is moved through pipelines.

If that’s the case, then why is the Keystone project so controversial? Well, to hear its supporters talk, it shouldn’t be. Arguments against it are characterized as no more than treehugging, Obamafied puffery. Oil is oil; it’s the stuff that modern economies run on; demand for oil may fluctuate a little, but over the long term it’s a given. Getting more crude to US refineries, especially from a friendly neighbor country, can only be a good thing. “Global warming” probably isn’t even real. These assumptions describe the political climate that TransCanada faced in building its Keystone pipeline project, most of which, indeed, is already in place, transporting gobs and gobs of oil as we speak. They didn’t expect this final section, connecting Hardisty, Alberta with Steele City, Nebraska via Montana and the Dakotas, to pose a problem.

Oil Sands: the Crudest Crude

When we hear the price of oil reported on the financial news, we often hear it in terms of the a benchmark called “light, sweet crude,” which sounds very nice, sort of like maple syrup. Lightness and sweetness are references to crude oil’s density, and its sulfur content. Light, sweet oil, such as Brent crude from the North Sea, are priced higher, because they demand less refining to yield retail products such as gasoline. The kind of crude oil the Keystone XL pipeline would carry is less like light, sweet maple syrup, more like the kind of gunk you’d scrape off the bottom of a truck. It’s called “oil sands.” (Many call it “tar sands,” which is more descriptive, but Canadian oil people insist that because tar is a human product, “oil sands” is more correct.)

The resource is bitumen, a tar-like substance mixed with sand. Extremely large deposits of the stuff exist in Alberta (there are other large deposits in Venezuela). It is mined in two ways, either by strip mining, for shallow deposits — or, for deeper deposits, by a process similar to fracking, in which steam is forced underground, liquefying the bitumen and pushing it to the surface. In either case, however, mere mining doesn’t elevate the gunk to the status of “crude oil.” It must undergo an energy- and water-intensive pre-refining process to make it valuable enough to bother with refining, and fluid enough to move through a pipeline.

Indeed, in the oil-embargo years of the 1970s, there were proposals to exploit Canada’s oil sand fields, which have long been known to be vast: Canada’s proven oil reserves are second only to Saudi Arabia’s. But because of its many disadvantages, oil sands was not deemed commercially viable at the time. Since then, a few factors have changed: easily-recoverable sources of liquid crude oil have become depleted, raising the average cost of a barrel of crude. Lots of oil is still being brought to market, but more of it is getting there through new technologies such as deep-ocean drilling and hydraulic fracturing. The newfound viability of Canadian tar sands (if it indeed exists) is part of this trend. Additionally, instability in the Middle East, the area that surrounds the world’s largest petroleum reserves, makes North American sources that much more attractive.

Nasty Stuff

Nevertheless, the delivery of tar sands oil is anything but a light, sweet process. Surface mining operations thus far have dug up huge areas of hitherto pristine boreal forest and marshland; some four tons of earth must be moved to create a single barrel of oil. Furthermore, separating bitumen from its sand matrix consumes between two and four barrels of water per barrel of oil.  It actually uses more water than that, but some is recycled. The used water, however, is laced with toxic chemicals and cannot be placed back into the environment, but is held indefinitely in huge “tailings ponds,” two of which are visible from space to the naked eye. The process also uses lots of energy. The strip-mining operations use the world’s largest electric shovels, loading 100 tons per scoop into dump trucks that carry 400 tons per load. The water used to separate bitumen from sand must be heated. It has been estimated that current tar sands operations contribute four per cent of Canada’s total greenhouse-gas emissions, and that figure is projected to triple over the next six years. Some engineers are proposing to lower this figure, however, by using portable nuclear reactors to heat the water.

The more one looks into the realities of the tar-sands industry, the more absurd it seems. In order to separate the bitumen (which is only twelve per cent of the oil sands “ore” by volume; four tons of it must be mined to yield a barrel of oil) they need to heat so much water that nuclear reactors are a viable way to do it? And even once the bitumen is separated, it is still too viscous to ship; it has to be “upgraded,” using more heat and pressure, to get it to flow.

But, (advocates insist) we need the oil. And if these ecological travesties are going on way up in Northern Alberta (where, by the way, it is creating lots of jobs; the remote village of Fort McMurray is a boom town), what do we care? They’ve got plenty of land up there. But: the remoteness of the Albertan oil sands deposits brings us to the next chapter of our story. No oil-refining capacity exists anywhere near them. For this oil to be viable, there has to be a cost-effective way to get it to refineries.

The  Bottleneck

Advocates of the Keystone XL assert that it should be built because those Canadians are going to sell their oil anyway; if they can’t use this route, they’ll send it West to the Chinese, or East to Atlantic ports. It isn’t that easy, though. To get to the Pacific, a pipeline would have to cross the Rocky Mountains. The route East is much longer, would have to pass through many complex, populated rights-of-way, and has already faced vociferous opposition in Portland, Maine, where voters this year prohibited the reversal of flow through an existing pipeline to accommodate oil-sands crude. Shipping of crude oil by railroad is at just about the peak of existing capacity, and has led to some devastating spills. No, there is a very big, very clear reason why the Keystone XL pipeline is such a big deal:

Without it, the Canadian oil sands industry will be a losing proposition.

Now, let’s be clear: I’m saying that without Keystone XL, the Canadian oil sands industry will be a losing business proposition for its investors. It’s already a losing proposition for the planet; its external costs are, as we’ve seen, absurdly high. But, in spite of everything, if it is able to deliver 830,000 barrels per day to US refineries, it will be profitable — and this pipeline is the only way it can possibly do that. If the pipeline goes through, mining operations will ramp up, economies of scale will kick in, and money will be made. If it doesn’t, well… then the big scar on Alberta’s land won’t get bigger, and a very large amount of carbon won’t get dumped into the world’s air.

James Hansen and Bill McKibben saw the writing on the wall, and organized a very efficient public campaign to raise awareness about the pipeline and its dangers, and their efforts seem to have been effective in strengthening President Obama’s resolve against the project (because it crosses an international border, its final approval is the responsibility of the State Department). This could be overridden by new legislation. A bill to force approval of the pipeline recently lost narrowly in the lame-duck senate; once the new Republican senate is in place, it will almost surely pass. Obama has been sending signals that he would likely veto the bill — but, that may not be the end of the Keystone XL. There could conceivably be enough votes to override his veto, or the pipeline could be traded for a policy the president wants more, such as a minimum wage increase.

The Last Stand

So, bad as it is, the Keystone XL might get the go-ahead anyway, and there’ll be no stopping it, right?

Perhaps there will. There is another sovereignty that must be consulted here — one that deeply disapproves of the Keystone XL pipeline. President Cyril Scott of the Rosebud Sioux Tribe said this in a November 14th statement in response to the bill to force approval of the pipeline that was passed by the House of Representatives:

[T]he Rosebud Sioux Tribe (Sicangu Lakota Oyate) recognizes the authorization of the this pipeline as an act of war. The tribe has done its part to remain peaceful in its dealing with the United States in this matter, in spite of the fact that the Rosebud Sioux Tribe has yet to be properly consulted on the project, which would cross through tribal land, and the concerns brought to the Department of Interior and to the Department of State have yet to be addressed.

The House has now signed our death warrants and the death warrants of our children and grandchildren. The Rosebud Sioux Tribe will not allow this pipeline through our lands.

In earnest of this, the Rosebud Sioux, with the full cooperation of the other Sioux Tribes in South Dakota, have set up a “Spirit Camp” near the tiny community of Ideal, South Dakota, on a small patch of Rosebud tribal land that appears to lie in the proposed path of the pipeline. There, tribal members and supporters have vowed to stay, to guard the land and stop the pipeline.

Does the pipeline route actually cross reservation land? That is an important question, and it appears that TransCanada has chosen the route carefully to avoid doing so. First Nations in Canada have, for the most part, strongly opposed oil sands development, and the company clearly wanted to avoid crossing reservations land in the US, recognizing that doing so could expose them to another level of legal complications.

However, it is very difficult to cross the country to the North and East of the Rosebud Sioux reservation without crossing land that does, indeed, belong to the Rosebud Sioux. And, furthermore, even were the pipeline not to actually cross Rosebud trust land, consultation with the tribe is still legally required if such a project were to cross adjacent lands in which the tribe has recognized riparian, burial or sacred considerations.

This Far. No Further.

The question of whether a crude oil pipeline in South Dakota crosses sovereign Indian land is by no means settled, legally or morally. The history of the “Great Sioux Reservation” which was created by the 1868 treaty of Fort Laramie is, in many ways, an apt microcosm of the entire history of dealings between the United States and the indigenous people of North America.

The vast majority of surviving Native Americans never surrendered to the United States, and never sought to become US citizens. As settlement pressure increased, tribes were moved, often forcibly, to designated areas. On these reservations, Indians would maintain self-government. They were not subject to the laws of the state(s) that surrounded the reservations; they would maintain a “nation-to-nation” relationship with the federal government, based on treaties (treaties duly negotiated between sovereign states had long been considered, under common law, as the law of the land).

However, by 1887, even that arrangement, disadvantageous as it was to the Indians, came into conflict with the Manifest Destiny of the United States. That year, under the Dawes, or “General Allotment” Act, Native Americans were offered US citizenship under the worst possible terms. Under this law, the reservations would be dissolved and individual families would be allotted 160 acres of land. If individuals accepted these allotments and farmed their lands in a suitable manner, they would be granted citizenship. To be sure, there were many more 160-acre parcels of land in the Great Sioux Reservation than there were individual families to allot them to. That was part of the plan: the “surplus” land would be made available to white settlers.

This was, of course, just the latest in a long series of treaty abrogations by the US government. Nevertheless, as in the case of slavery (or fee-simple land ownership, for that matter), a need was felt for some form of legal justification. This came in the 1903 Supreme Court decision of Lone Wolf v. Hitchcock, which has been called the “Indian Dred Scott decision.” The court held that the US Congress has the power to unilaterally abrogate treaty obligations with native tribes. A series of laws, pursuant to this decision, offered to buy Rosebud Sioux lands for $2.50 (later $2.75) per acre. As the poster shows, these were bargain prices.

This history is the source of the “checkerboard” pattern of trust lands held by the Rosebud Sioux, which are now considered non-contiguous parts of their Reservation. The sovereign status of Indian nations was reinstated in US law by the Indian Reorganization Act of 1934, pushed by the Franklin Roosevelt administration and termed the “Indian New Deal.” By this time, however, more that 90 million acres, some two-thirds of Indian lands, had been transferred to white settlers.

The Profaning of the Black Hills

Gold was discovered in the Black Hills of South Dakota (and Wyoming) in 1874. Before that, this area, which had been held as sacred for hundreds of years, had not been much use to the United States. But, after the Lakota were defeated in the battle of Little Big Horn (1876), Congress seized the Black Hills, in a rider to an 1877 law that ceased all government aid, including food, unless the Black Hills were immediately ceded to the US. There was no mention of compensation.

In 1942, the national monument opened at Mount Rushmore (named for Charles Rushmore, a prospector). The mountain had previously been known by the Lakota as Six Grandfathers, and it featured prominently in the celebrated spiritual journey of Black Elk.

In 1980, the US Supreme Court, upholding a 1977 decision by the US Court of Claims, affirmed that the seizure of the Black Hills was illegal under the Fifth amendment, and awarded the Lakota $106 million in compensation. The various Lakota tribes making up the Sioux nation (Rosebud, Pine Ridge, Crow Creek, Cheyenne River, Standing Rock) agreed not to accept the cash compensation and demanded that the land be returned to them, as stipulated in the Fort Laramie Treaty of 1851. The money was held in escrow, and now totals over a billion dollars. Some are tempted to take the money; the various Sioux reservations are among the poorest areas in the United States. However, the current value of the settlement would only amount to a bit over $10,000 per person.

The Spirit Camp

It is widely understood that all aspects of legal precedent regarding the “government-to-government” relationship between the United States and Indian nations are uncertain. Indeed, the 1903 Lone Wolf decision (affirming Congress’s right to abrogate treaties with Indian nations at will) has not been overturned. And, laws passed that enforced the allotment policies of the Dawes act are still accepted as legal precedent. Nevertheless, there is a body of law that establishes some form of sovereignty for federally recognized Indian nations. Under that body of law, you can’t slap a pipeline down on reservation land — or atop sacred or burial sites on nearby stolen land — without permission.

The Rosebud Sioux members who are living in tipis along the pipeline route, outside of Ideal, South Daktoa, are making sure these facts are not ignored:

Resistance to this threat is underway. The Lakota and their allies are rising to the challenge with several carefully calculated actions, one of which is to organize and erect spiritual tipi camps to stop progress along the pipeline right-of-way…. We will use the legal and moral authority of the First Nations peoples to protect significant spiritual and burial sites which are at immediate risk…. Our government spends millions of dollars to protect cultural sites in other countries we occupy while it issues permits for the destruction of similar sites in the heartland of America for corporate profit.

The XL pipeline is the current leading threat to the survival of the planet and these spiritual tipi camps are our best opportunity to stop it. Lakota men and women are putting their lives on the line for all of us, and they need your help.

Should the Keystone XL pipeline survive a presidential veto, or otherwise gain government approval, the Spirit Camp could be the last thing that stands in its way. To be sure, the US government has the ability to sweep aside this resistance which, however heroic, is quite small. But, it won’t be able to do so without perpetrating yet another unforgivable atrocity against the Lakota people.

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