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mostlysignssomeportents · 3 years

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Taxes are for the little people

If you wanna do crimes, make them incredibly complicated and technical. Like the hustlers that came into the bookstore I worked at and spun these long-ass stories about why they needed money for a Greyhound ticket home.

Those guys shoulda studied the private equity sector.

Private equity's playbook is to borrow giant sums by putting up other peoples' companies as collateral (yes, really). Then they use that money to buy the company they mortgaged, and pay themselves a huge dividend.

Then they sell off the company's assets and pay themselves even more money. That leaves the company in a state of precarity - assets they once owned, like their buildings, they now rent. If the rent goes up, they have to find the money to cover it.

All of this forms a pretense for mass layoffs, defaulting on pension obligations, lowering product quality, stiffing suppliers and borrowing more money. If the company doesn't go bust, the PE looters can flip it to *another* PE company, that does it again.

Whenever you see something really terrible happening to a business that once offered useful products and services and paid decent wages, it's a safe bet that PE is behind it. Toys R Us, Sears, your local hospital - and that memestock favorite, AMC.

https://pluralistic.net/2020/04/12/mammon-worshippers/#silver-lake-partners

Private equity goons make their money in two ways: the first is by pocketing 20% of these special dividends and other extractive policies that hollow out business.

This is money at PE managers get paid for spending their investors' money. It's a wage, in other words.

But thanks to the "carried interest" loophole (a hangover from 16th-century sea captains that has nothing to do with "interest" on loans), they get to treat these wages as "capital gains" and pay far less tax on them.

The fact that we give preferential tax treatment to capital gains (money derived from gambling), while taxing wages (money derived from doing useful work) at higher rates really tells you everything you need to know about our economic priorities.

https://pluralistic.net/2021/04/29/writers-must-be-paid/#carried-interest

The carried interest loophole lets PE crooks treat their salaries as capital gains, are taxed at a much lower rate than the wages of the workers whose lives they're destroying.

On top of the 20% profit-share that PE bosses get every year, they also pocket a 2% "management fee" for all the "value" they add to the companies they've taken over.

This is *definitely* a wage. The 20% profit-share at least has an element of risk, but that 2% is guaranteed.

But PE bosses have spent more than a decade booking that 2% wage as a capital gain, using a tax-fraud tactic called "fee waivers." The details of how a fee waiver don't matter because it's all bullshit, like the tale of the needful Greyhound ticket.

All that matters is that a legal fiction allows people earning *eight- or nine-figure salaries* to treat *all* of those wages as capital gains and pay lower rates of tax on them than the janitors who clean their toilets or the workers whose jobs they will annihilate.

Now, the IRS knows all about this. Whistleblowers came forward in 2011 to warn them about it. The Treasury even struck a committee to come up with new rules to fix it.

But Obama failed to make those rules stick, and then Trump put a former tax-cheat enabler in charge of redrafting them. The cheater-friendly rules became law on Jan 5, and handed PE bosses hundreds of millions in savings every year.

https://www.nytimes.com/2021/06/12/business/private-equity-taxes.html

The New York Times report on "fee waivers" goes through the rulemaking history, the technical details of the scam, and the gutting of the IRS, which can no longer afford to audit rich people and now makes its quotas by preferentially auditing low earners who can't afford lawyers.

But former securities lawyer Jerri-Lynn Scofield's breakdown of the Times piece on Naked Capitalism really connects the dots:

https://www.nakedcapitalism.com/2021/06/private-inequity-nyt-examines-how-the-private-equity-industry-avoids-taxes.html

As Scofield and Yves Smith point out, if Biden wanted to do one thing for tax justice, he could abolish preferential treatment for capital gains. If we want a society of makers and doers instead of owners and gamblers, we shouldn't penalize wages and reward rents.

There's an especial urgency to this right now. As the PE bosses themselves admit, they went on a buying spree during the pandemic (they call it "saving American businesses"). Larger and larger swathes of the productive economy are going into the PE meat-grinder.

Worse still, the PE industry has revived its most destructive tactic, the "club deal," whereby PE firms collaborate to take out whole economic sectors in one go:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/05/14/billionaire-class-solidarity/#club-deals

We're at an historic crossroads for tax justice. On the one hand, you have the blockbuster Propublica report on leaked IRS files that revealed that the net tax rate paid by America's billionaires is close to zero.

https://pluralistic.net/2021/06/08/leona-helmsley-was-a-pioneer/#eat-the-rich

This has left the Bootlicker-Industrial Complex in the bizarre position of arguing that anyone who suggests someone who amasses billions of dollars should pay more than $0 in tax is a radical socialist (so far, the go-to tactic is to make performative noises about privacy).

At the same time, the G7 has agreed to an historical tax deal that will see businesses taxed at least 15% on the revenue they make in each country, irrespective of the accounting fictions they use to claim that the profits are being earned in the middle of the Irish Sea.

That deal is historical, but the fact that it's being hailed as curbing corporate power reveals just how distorted our discourse about corporate taxes has become.

As Thomas Piketty writes, self-employed people pay 20-50% tax in countries that will tax the world's wealthiest companies a mere 15%: "For SMEs as well as for the working and middle classes, it is impossible to create a subsidiary to relocate its profits to a tax haven."

Piketty, like Gabriel Zucman, says that EU nations should charge multinationals a minimum of 25%, and like Zucman, he reminds us that the G7 deal does nothing to help the poorest countries in the Global South.

https://www.lemonde.fr/blog/piketty/2021/06/15/the-g7-legalizes-the-right-to-defraud/

These countries and the EU have something in common: they aren't "monetarily sovereign" (that is, they don't issue their own currencies *and* borrow in the currencies they issue).

Sovereign currency issuers (US, UK, Japan, Canada, Australia, etc) don't need to tax in order to pay for programs - first they spend new money into the economy and then they tax it back out again.

https://pluralistic.net/2020/06/10/compton-cowboys/#the-deficit-myth

These countries can run out of stuff to buy in their currency, but they can't run out of the currency itself. Monetarily sovereign countries don't tax to fund their operations.

Rather, they tax to fight inflation (if you spend money into the economy every year but don't take some of it out again through taxation, more and more money will chase the same goods and services and prices will go up).

And just as importantly, monetary sovereigns tax to reduce the spending power - and hence the political power - of the wealthy. The fact that PE bosses had billions of tax-free dollars at their disposal let them spend millions to distort tax policy to legalize fee waivers.

Taxing the money - and hence the power - of wage earners at higher rates than gamblers creates politics that value gambling above work, because gamblers get to spend the winnings they retain on political influence, including campaigns to rig the casino in their favor.

This discredits the whole system, shatters social cohesion and makes it hard to even imagine that we can build a better world - or avert the climate-wracked dystopia on the horizon.

But for Eurozone countries (whose monetary supply is controlled by technocrats at the ECB) and countries of the Global South (whom the IMF has forced into massive debts owed in US dollars, which they can only get by selling their national products), tax is even more urgent.

The US could fund its infrastructure needs just by creating money at the central bank.

EU and post-colonial lands can only fund programs with taxes, so for them, billionaires don't just distort their priorities and corrupt their system - they also starve their societies.

But that doesn't mean that monetary sovereigns can tolerate billionaires and their policy distortions. The UK is monetarily sovereign, in the G7, and its finance minister is briefing to have the City of London's banks exempted from the new tax deal.

https://www.bloomberg.com/news/articles/2021-06-08/u-k-pushes-for-city-of-london-exemption-from-global-tax-deal

Now, the City of London is one of the world's great financial crime-scenes, and its banks are responsible for an appreciable portion of the planet-destabilizing frauds of the past 100 years.

During the Great Financial Crisis AIG used its London subsidiary to commit crimes its US branch couldn't get away with. The City of London was the epicenter of the LIBOR fraud, the Greensill collapse - it's the Zelig of finance crime, the heart of every fraud.

UK Chancellor Rishi Sunak claims banks are already paying high global tax and can't afford to be part of the G7 tax deal. If that was true, it wouldn't change the fact that these banks are too big to jail and anything that shrinks them is a net benefit.

But it's not true.

As the tax justice campaigner Richard Murphy points out, the risk to banks like Barclays adds up to 0.8% of global turnover: "The big deal is that the 15% global minimum tax rate is much too low. Suinak has yet again spectacularly missed the point."

https://www.taxresearch.org.uk/Blog/2021/06/09/how-big-is-the-tax-hit-on-banks-from-the-g7-tax-deal-that-sunak-fears-really-going-to-be/

Image: Joshua Doubek (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:IRS_Sign.JPG

CC BY-SA: https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/deed.en

#pluralistic

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mrlnsfrt · 3 years

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Elijah and The Widow

This post is part two of our Becoming Elijah series. You can read and listen to part 1 here.

Brief Review

If you were simply reading the Bible from Genesis to Revelation in order the first time you would become aware of Elijah would be in 1 Kings 17. He bursts into the story unannounced with a message of judgment from God. This message was also a direct challenge to Baal, the god many were beginning to worship who supposedly brought rain.

Elijah faithfully delivers the short message and God tells him to run and hide by a brook. We do not know how long Elijah was hiding but during that time he was fed by ravens twice a day and drank water from the brook. As time goes by, days, weeks, months, years perhaps, the water level at the brook continually drops, making it increasingly difficult for Elijah to drink from it. Eventually, the brook dries up because there has been no rain in the land.

Emotional Impact

I invite you to place yourself in the shoes of Elijah for a moment. Imagine being faithful to God and doing exactly as you’re told, only to have life continually become more and more difficult. Elijah finds himself hiding in the wilderness, in isolation because he is a wanted man. We do not know how long he was living by the brook or how comfortable his accommodations were. I imagine they were not the most comfortable he had ever experienced in his life. Life was hard. I cannot imagine what it must be like to be isolated for long periods of time. I know it is good to spend time alone in nature, but I have to admit I do not find it easy to do.

However, Elijah is not the first or the last person God called or caused to spend some time in a wilderness. Moses fled from Egypt and spend 40 years caring for sheep (Acts 7:23-30, Exodus 3:1). David spent years in the wilderness as well, caring for sheep (1 Samuel 16:11-13; 17:15, 20); and avoiding King Saul (1 Samuel 22:1-2, 23:14; 24:1, etc.). In the New Testament, we have Jesus being led by the Spirit into the wilderness (Matthew 4:1; Mark 1:12; Luke 4:1). Apparently, God uses wilderness experiences to equip His servants for service. The question then becomes are we willing to go through that training. When God sends us to the wilderness, do we spend time there learning what God wants to teach us, or do we give up and walk away?

How often are we in a hurry to do something great for God and in that hurry we fail to be properly equipped for the task He is calling us to do? Could we be struggling today because we avoided the wilderness experience, or perhaps are we currently living our wilderness experience?

Maybe COVID has caused you to feel like you’re all alone, so even though you may be living in a city, in your own home, you feel alone, isolated, and abandoned by God?

Is God trying to teach you something? Can God bring some good out of this situation? What can we learn from our wilderness experience? Instead of becoming bitter and angry towards God, what if we take this moment to reconnect with God and more intentionally seek His will?

Spending time in the wilderness is not comfortable, but it can be very beneficial for our souls. Taking a break, slowing down, having to deal with the discomfort and challenges, and hardships that accompany being in the wilderness can be a blessing in the life lessons we learn and the insights we gain about God and life. Our time in the wilderness can be a time of learning and growth even if it seems like a waste of time.

But how long do we have to stay in the wilderness? God lets us know.

The Word of the LORD came

Then the word of the Lord came to him, saying, “Arise, go to Zarephath, which belongs to Sidon, and dwell there. See, I have commanded a widow there to provide for you.” - 1 Kings 17:8-9 NKJV

We are tempted to believe that God is either not paying attention or that He does not have a plan simply because He does not make all the details of His plan available to us from the very beginning. God told Elijah to go hide by the Brook Cherith and Elijah obeyed. But God did not tell Elijah how long he was supposed to stay there. Maybe Eliah thought he would be there the whole time, maybe Elijah did not expect the drought to last as long as it had. Perhaps Elijah was tempted to believe God had forgotten about him, except he knew that God remembered because his food was provided twice a day every day. How would you have felt if you were in a similar situation? On the one hand, there is a clear sign that God is providing for your needs, in Elijah’s case the ravens bringing him food each day. On the other hand, there is a problem you see looming on the horizon, and you feel like God is not doing anything about it. In Elijah’s case the water level of the brook continues to drop, every day it gets more difficult for him to drink from the brook until it’s dry.

Only then the word of the LORD comes to Elijah.

You could argue that God didn’t tell Elijah anything earlier because it was not like Elijah could do anything about it anyway. But are we comfortable with that? Can our faith handle not knowing all the details? Can our faith survive waiting until the last minute before God reveals to us what the next step should be? Can we trust in God solely based on what He has already done for us, based on what He is doing for us? Is our faith strong enough to survive not knowing everything?

I am not talking about blind faith. I am talking about an informed faith, but a faith that does not have all the details concerning everything. Personally, I find it challenging. It is humbling when I get asked questions and I have to say that I don’t know, that it’s unclear, or that the Bible is silent on it. But I still find this healthier than coming up with personal theories and reading them into the biblical text or even into the will of God. By this I mean I would rather say I don’t know than to say that my personal theory is what God is going to do, or is doing when God has not made it clear. I hope we can all learn from Elijah’s story so far that sometimes we don’t know the details until it’s time to act on them. Until God makes things clearer we continue to faithfully follow what He has revealed. We should be very careful about making prophetic proclamations about end-time events, especially when we share personal views as if they were biblical truths.

Also, if you ever talk with me and I agree that your scenario is a possibility, please don’t tell others that I agree with your view, I only agree that it is a possibility, but there are many possible ways that the future will take place. Instead of focusing on that the next step will be one day in the future, how about we focus on what God has called us to do today, this week, this year?

Elijah remained at the brook until God told him to leave.

Zarephath

Zarephath was a small town in Phoenicia, located between Tyre and Sidon. Interestingly, the text mentions that Zeraphath belonged to Sidon, this is significant because Jezebel was a Sidonian princess (1 Kgs 16:31) which means that her father was the ruler of the territory where Zarephath was located. So God told Elijah, who was running away from Jezebel, to go hide in her home country, a land under the control of her father, a land where its inhabitants officially worshipped Baal.

I imagine Elijah feeling relief that God was finally revealing to him His plans and what he should do next. I also imagine Elijah wondering if it would be better to hang out by the dry brook for a bit longer. How does the expression go, out of the frying pan and into the fire? That might have been how Elijah felt at first. But don’t worry, it gets worse.

A Widow

Not only is God telling Elijah to travel to a gentile land where Baal worship is the official religion, but God is also telling Elijah that a widow will provide for him. Widows constituted some of the poorest most helpless people in society. Most of the time widows were not able to earn a respectable living with begging and prostitution generally being their only source of livelihood.

Another detail that caught my attention is the fact that God knew the widows who lived outside the borders of Israel. If God had commanded this widow living in Zarephath to provide for Elijah could this be evidence that God cares for everyone? I would not have expected God to use a poor widow from a pagan nation to provide for one of the greatest prophets of the Old Testament. I imagine this widow must have been seeking God, and God revealed Himself to her in some way and now God was sending her a prophet. I love how God takes this person that most would have considered forsaken and cursed by God and uses her to provide for His prophet.

I love how God uses people who don’t have it all together, people who are struggling and makes them a part of His plan to save the world.

Elijah Obeys

So he arose and went to Zarephath. And when he came to the gate of the city, indeed a widow was there gathering sticks. And he called to her and said, “Please bring me a little water in a cup, that I may drink.” - 1 Kings 17:10 NKJV

I am amazed by Elijah’s faithful obedience. Elijah does not question God or complain even though his life keeps getting more difficult at each step. It seems to me that all Elijah has been getting for his faithfulness is more challenges. But he simply obeys God and sure enough as he comes to the gate of the city he sees a widow. I am not sure about Elijah, but maybe many of us would expect this to be a wealthy widow, maybe she has a nice house with a view, a pool, a well-watered garden with lots of fruits and veggies growing. Maybe after roughing it by the brook Elijah had earned a well-deserved vacation. Now he will likely get to finally sleep in a bed and have a roof over his head and he eat something that was not brought by birds. I would be excited to join civilization again, or I would have been if it had been a city that belonged to Sidon. I would have been constantly worried if anyone had figured out that I was the prophet that queen Jezebel wanted dead. What if a neighbor decided to collect on a possible bounty that could have been set for me? Or what if someone simply wanted to get on the good side of the king by helping his daughter?

I don’t really know what Elijah was thinking, but I like to place myself in his shoes and try to imagine how difficult this could have been for him. What I do know is that Elijah calls to the widow and asks for water, which I imagine must have been really valuable at this time. I bet people were being very careful with their water usage during this drought.

Bread, please!

And as she was going to get it, he called to her and said, “Please bring me a morsel of bread in your hand.” - 1 Kings 17:11 NKJV

I can imagine Elijah asking a widow for water, she does not say a word but goes to get the water, then he interrupts her to ask for bread. I don’t know about you, but I struggle a bit with asking for help. I don’t mind asking for help to help someone else. If someone needs help I don’t mind asking others to join me in helping someone else. But when it comes to asking for myself, I hate it, many times I would rather go without than bother someone else with my needs. I believe this probably stems from pride, and God has been helping me with this by repeatedly placing me in situations where I need to ask others for help. But still, I struggle with the idea of asking a poor widow not just for water but also for bread. Especially in the middle of a terrible drought. Everyone is struggling. Brooks are drying up, crops are failing, animals are dying, how could I ask a poor widow for water and bread?

No Bread

So she said, “As the Lord your God lives, I do not have bread, only a handful of flour in a bin, and a little oil in a jar; and see, I am gathering a couple of sticks that I may go in and prepare it for myself and my son, that we may eat it, and die.” - 1 Kings 17:11-12 NKJV

The widow humbly informs Elijah of her plans for the future which consist of baking one last meal for herself and her son and slowly starving to death. If she was lucky she would not have to witness the death of her son, but on the other hand, would she really want her son to have to watch her die? This is just a terrible situation regardless of how you look at it.

I imagine Elijah saying, “Sorry, never mind. I must have confused you with someone else. Is there another widow in this town, someone with a big house, perhaps a pool and lots of delicious food?

On a more serious note, why would God ask a widow who does not have enough even for herself to provide for His prophet? After all, is it not God’s job to provide for His servants?

I believe the lesson here is that God prefers to work through us to bless each other and He can use anyone, even the poorest among us. Even the person who barely has enough to survive can be used by God to bless others. We are blessed as we go out of our way to help others. This blessing is not only for the wealthy, it is not only for those who have access to more resources. We are all called to do something. Don’t count yourself out simply because you don’t have as much as someone else. You can also help. When God calls on you to help He will bless you in order for you to be a blessing to others.

Do not fear

And Elijah said to her, “Do not fear; go and do as you have said, but make me a small cake from it first, and bring it to me; and afterward make some for yourself and your son. For thus says the Lord God of Israel: ‘The bin of flour shall not be used up, nor shall the jar of oil run dry, until the day the Lord sends rain on the earth.’ ” - 1 Kings 17:13-14 NKJV

The widow has legitimate reasons to be concerned, but Elijah tells her to not fear, she is to obey God and trust Him to provide for all her needs. If he makes God a priority in her life, she does not have to be afraid. When we find ourselves in God’s will, we have nothing to fear. We minister not because we have an abundance but rather because God calls us to. We step out in faith to bless those around us, trusting that as we do the will of God, He will take care of our needs.

He who finds his life will lose it, and he who loses his life for My sake will find it. - Matthew 10:39 NKJV

Jesus makes it clear, we find life by giving it up. I don’t think He means reckless living or suicide, but rather a life where the focus has shifted from self to other. A life where obeying God is more important than my selfish desires. This is not an easy life, but it is the only life worth living.

If I truly believe that God is my provider, that He not only created me but also redeemed me. If I believe that God loves me beyond anything I could ever hope to comprehend, and if I believe that God calls me to bless those around me, why should I be afraid of stepping out in faith? If God is calling me to help others learn about Him why should I be afraid?

Trust

So she went away and did according to the word of Elijah; and she and he and her household ate for many days. The bin of flour was not used up, nor did the jar of oil run dry, according to the word of the Lord which He spoke by Elijah. - 1 Kings 17:15-16NKV

"While Jezebel feeds the prophets of Baal in Israel (1 Kgs 18:19), the Zarepthathite widow feeds Elijah, the prophet of Yahweh, in Sidon (1 Kgs 17:13–16)" -- The Lexham Bible Dictionary.

We need to make sure we are following the will of God and not the will of humans, our own, or our spiritual leaders’. Spend time in prayer, read the Bible, but once you become convinced of what God is calling you to do, go for it trusting God to provide for you. Trust in God and live out your faith in service for those around you. Do not be afraid of ministry. Do not be afraid of helping others. Do not be afraid of sharing the love of God. Trust in God, don’t be afraid, and do what He is calling you to do.

Let your love for God guide your life, not fear. Do not focus on the problems, and reasons for you to not get involved, look to God, claim His promises, do not be afraid, trust in God, and get involved in service for the benefit of those around you.

God is faithful.

You do not have to be afraid.

#Elijah #Narrative #Old Testament

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bopinion · 3 years

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2021 / 28

Aperçu of the Week:

"For some reason, the climate issue has suddenly become a global issue."

(Armin Laschet, current Minister President of, of all places, North Rhine-Westphalia, who apparently lacks both foresight and perspective. Yet he leads in the polls to become Germany's next chancellor).

Bad News of the Week:

Last week I wrote: "Who still doubts the man-made climate change: look out of the damn window!" And now it is really here, the climate change. Or rather its effects. On our doorstep. No more threatened islands in the South Pacific, no more melting polar ice caps far away, no more fires in North America, no more sinking groundwater in the Middle East - here, in our neighborhood, immediately, now.

It doesn't take a tsunami, a tornado, an earthquake, or a volcanic eruption. It just needs rain. Much rain. Lots of rain. Former small streams burst their banks as torrents, mountain slopes slide down, floods rush through inhabited areas, sweeping everything away. Entire towns are under water, houses collapse, cars are thrown around like tennis balls, complete infrastructures are destroyed, people drown - almost 200 so far.

In parts of Bavaria and Saxony, but especially in North Rhine-Westphalia and Rhineland-Palatinate, the pictures look like a war zone. Not only because military recovery vehicles are often the only vehicles that can even pass the roads full of rubble and mud. The suffering of fellow citizens who have lost a loved one or simply their entire possessions from one moment to the next seems incomprehensible. Overcoming the consequences is a joint task. Politicians are putting together aid packages, while the solidarity of individuals and the commitment of many volunteers are setting standards.

One of the hardest hit places is called "Schuld", literally "Guilt". And this brings a bizarre realization: yes, we are guilty for what is happening. Not an unexpected phenomenon that comes out of nowhere. But the concrete result of what we have done and are doing. Or rather, what we have not done or are not doing.

It is always said that a crisis is the hour of the executive. Because it can decide, take concrete measures, send help, make money available. Normally, this is done - yes, we are currently campaigning for the federal elections in September - at the expense of the opposition, which, in the absence of government responsibility, can really only show concern. In this case, the Greens, the strongest challenger to the current governing coalition of conservatives and social democrats. But they are the ones who have always warned about the consequences of ignoring nature, who have declared sustainability to be the guiding principle and who are the only ones with concrete environmental and climate protection plans in their party program. Let's see how this realistic far-sightedness and this credible commitment will carry the day when the voters have to put their crosses. Hopefully in the right place...

Good News of the Week:

At the Eurovision Song Contest, many are always surprised by the hardly known countries in Europe (okay, we'll leave out the questionable participations of Israel or Australia). This includes for example the Republica Moldova. A small country between Romania and Ukraine, (almost) on the Black Sea, one of the many former Soviet republics. It shares the same classic fate of autocratic structures, corruption, an ailing economy, isolation from the West, and dependence on big brother Russia. In Transnistria, there were already pro-Russian independence efforts supported by Moscow before there were more high-profile ones in the Ukrainian Donbas region.

But just as in Ukraine, a democratic spring is dawning. Back in the 2014 parliamentary elections, pro-EU parties won a clear majority of 55 seats to the pro-Russian 46, but then failed due to cronyism, dubious entanglements and sabotage. But then came Maia Sandu. Coming from the World Bank as a lateral entrant, she first gained a reputation as a fearless fighter against corruption as education minister in the Liberal Democratic Party before failing as prime minister due to a lack of support for her radical judicial reform. In 2020, however, as the candidate of the "Partidul Acțiune și Solidaritate" ("Action and Solidarity Party" / PAS), which she co-founded, she finally won the presidential election with 58% in the runoff against incumbent Igor Dodon.

In last week's parliamentary elections, PAS was now the clear winner, winning a clear absolute majority in parliament with 63 of 101 seats. Memories of Emanuel Macron and "En marche" are awakening. PAS and Sandu now have the power to shape the government, freed from coalition concessions or multiparty dependencies. And their objectives were unambiguously defined as democratization and turning toward Europe. Sandu: "The people here have been lied to and disappointed so many times". The election results express "the desire of our people that order be established in this country and that corruption be fought. People want law and justice."

The great challenge will be to rid the country's institutions of the felt, to clean up and reorganize the administrative apparatus. For only on this basis can an economic perspective emerge for one of the poorest countries in Europe. It is precisely this lack of prospects that has caused an exodus of those willing and able to perform: one-third of Moldova's population now lives abroad. Sandu's first priority is therefore to modernize the education system and infrastructure and to develop a healthy sector of small and medium-sized enterprises. Only then would positive outlooks for the future have been created for the population - by their own efforts and they could then seek cooperative support from the EU. That this is not a foregone conclusion can be seen by looking across the border to neighboring Romania: a member of the EU for 14 years, the country is still struggling with economic misery and fundamental structural reforms. One can only wish the Republic of Moldova all the best and Maia Sandu a lucky hand.

Personal happy moment of the week:

I don't really know...

How pleased am I that Japan will not succumb to the commercial temptation to allow the same spectator madness at the Summer Olympics starting next week as England and Hungary did at the European soccer championships?

How satisfied am I to have found a solid solution to a complex challenge in weekend work that I can present to colleagues in the office tomorrow?

How relieved am I to live neither on a riverbank nor in a valley and therefore to be exposed to flood hazards only in underground garages and underpasses?

How happy am I that my wife will be standing in the kitchen tonight while I open the red wine, listen to the spherical sounds of Tangerine Dream and comfortably read the newspaper?

In some weeks you just have to be satisfied with the little pleasures in between. All good.

I couldn't care less...

...that insurance companies fear being confronted with claims arising from the flood disaster. After all, their business model should be to provide support in the event of an emergency. And not to look for backdoors and exclusion clauses in the fine print of their cryptic contracts.

As I write this...

...I'm tasting delicious olives my daughter brought back from her graduation trip in Tuscany.

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reading-writing-revolution · 4 years

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This is truly magnificent analysis. It's a bit of a long read, but it is ABSOLUTELY magically clarifying. I'll include my thoughts in a follow-up because this is perfectly in line with something I've been thinking about for a while.

Buckle up, this one is a bit of a roller coaster.

Let’s talk population density.

Do you know the population density of the zip code you live in?

What about the population density of where you spent your formative years?

That’s a bit of a rhetorical question, because I’m guessing the answer is no. I certainly didn’t, so I’d be impressed and surprised if I asked someone this question in casual conversation and they rattled off the number to me.

I’d never thought about population density until I traveled to India in 2018. We flew into Mumbai which has a population density of 75,000 people per sq. mi. To give you some perspective, NYC has 27,000 per sq. mi. (post originally said 10,431people but that is per sq. km. not mi.) and as most of my friends are familiar with King of The Hammers, in Johnson Valley, when Hammertown doesn’t exist, it has a population density of 15.2 people per sq. mi.

Mumbai has the highest population density of any city in the world, and until you’ve experienced it, it’s hard to describe. If you have ever been in the first 10 rows of a sold-out standing room only concert, that is as close as I can relate to how people move through the streets of Mumbai. There is literally no such thing as personal space. Not for you, not for your vehicle. I think one of the most fascinating things our entire group realized in Mumbai is whatever you do, do NOT stop. Merge in, merge out, but sudden stops cause pile ups of humans, vehicles, etc. Everything is in fluid motion, when you step into the stream you go with the current, when you need to leave the stream you move to the edges and hop out. What was also interesting was the lack of rage or frustration we saw, and the lack of accidents! I don’t think I saw two people yell at each other the entire time we were there. Same with car accidents, I saw one slight bumper brush. Nothing worth stopping over, as every car had marks from similar encounters.

You would think with so much closeness fights would break out often, accidents would be on every corner. But something strange happens. There is no space for the individual in that type of population density. If you wanted to stop and be mad or outraged, you would literally be trampled. So you move with the flow, or you step outside of it. One person cannot go against the current and be successful, individual needs simply cannot matter for society to function in that type of population density. This is different from NYC where you do see individuals disagree on street corners. Because even as dense as NYC is there is room for the individual. Even our most densely populated cities are nothing compared to other countries. America has space and the individual has rights.

When this country was founded the population density of even our biggest cities was a fraction of large cities in Europe. Which is why our constitution so heavily outlines the liberties and freedoms of the individual compared to places like England where their population density even today is 10 times that of the United States as a whole.

Ever since news of the pandemic broke I’ve found myself fascinated with population density in the US. This fascination started because it seemed obvious to me that the transmission of COVID would happen far faster in our highest population density areas of the country. Wikipedia has a list of cities by population density. Here’s how the top 20 most dense cities breaks down: 9 in New Jersey (NYC metro area),4 in CA (LA metro area), 3 in NY (NYC metro area), 2 in Florida (Miami metro area), 1 in Mass (Boston metro area), and 1 in Kentucky (Louisville). Except for Kentucky these population dense areas directly correlate to the highest areas of infection in the country.

But my fascination with population density didn’t stop at the pandemic. I wanted to understand population densities of different areas. I started looking up places I’d lived and visited that felt both dense and sparse population wise. It should come as no surprise that cities are always the most dense and rural areas are always the most sparse.

Then as the mask debate started unfolding in my newsfeed, I found myself loosely assigning a population density to people as they made their stance on masks known. Those that lived in higher population densities were usually more for masks than those who lived in less population dense areas.

Again, this made sense. Those that live in cities encounter more people in a day going about their routine. If they live in high-density housing, they share elevators, stairwells, mailrooms, lobbies, etc. The needs of the individual matter less the higher the density, so fighting the mask goes against the stream. You can do it, but it’s not easy.

Those I know that live more rural were less inclined to want to wear masks. I’ve found a general rule of thumb in casual conversation is if you can walk to your nearest market (even if it’s a gas station or 7/11), you understand the need for a mask. If you MUST drive to your nearest market, you likely don’t have to encounter many people in a day if you choose not to, and masks feel like just another unnecessary restriction imposed by the government. The individual has more freedoms and rejects government oversight more the lower the population density.

At some point this year I saw some people sharing an image of the US broken up by red states (Republican) vs. blue states (Democrat), compared to a map of COVID cases. At the time, the blue states almost directly correlated to where the highest COVID outbreaks were happening. The conclusion those sharing this map were trying to draw was that COVID was political and made up by the political leaders of blue states. It was largely those living in unaffected areas sharing this map and drawing these conclusions.

What I took from these images was that the higher the density the more likely an area was to be run by Democrats. Which lead me down a rabbit hole. Apparently, someone named Dave Troy noticed the same thing, and wrote an interesting article based on the 2012 election between Obama and Romney. 98% of the 50 most dense counties voted Obama. 98% of the 50 least dense counties voted Romney.

And this Dave guy sounds like someone I would enjoy having a discussion with. Because this data drew him to the same question I had. Where is the crossover point in population density between those that vote Republican vs. those that vote Democrat? The data says that at about 800 people per sq. mi. people switch from voting primarily Republican to voting primarily Democrat. Below 800 people per sq. mi. there is a 66% chance that you voted Republican in 2012. The data doesn’t appear much different in the following years.

So why does this matter? Because how you were raised and how you live has a huge impact on what matters to you from your politicians and your government.

Those I know that grew up in less dense areas had to be self-reliant. When calling 911 means you’re likely waiting 20 minutes or longer for police, an ambulance, or a fire truck. You have to be able to defend yourself, handle your own first aid, and rely on your neighbors to help in critical emergency situations. When I tell people in Southern California that where I grew up had volunteer firefighters and EMTs they don’t believe me.

The more rural you are, the less you rely on government entities for your day-to-day needs. The most rural have well water, septic systems, take their trash to the dump, if it snows, they have a vehicle that can plow, and the truly rural use propane for power and heat. They are not reliant on most services provided by the public utilities. They use guns as tools to protect their animals and their family from prey and from vermin. They do not really encounter homeless people, as even the poorest can usually find a shack to live out of and require a vehicle to get around. These people in less dense areas do not depend on the government to solve their problems. They’d prefer government stay out of their lives completely. Less taxes, less oversight, less being told what to do. To the rural, it seems like every time the government interferes in their life, they lose another freedom, and their quality of life diminishes.

Those I know that grew up in more dense areas are used to calling 911 to handle emergencies. Their streets are swept in the summer and plowed in the winter. Their trash is picked up on the same day weekly. They don’t have space for cars and tools, so they tend to take public transportation or walk. They call someone when something breaks that requires tools they don’t own. They are used to encountering the homeless on the streets as part of their daily life. The truly poor and homeless usually end up in cities as the services to help the sick, mentally ill and the poorest among us are more available in dense areas. So the wealthy interact with the poor in cities far more than they do in rural areas. Those in higher density areas are willing to pay for government services because they are a regular part of their daily lives and make life more manageable. Without these services, the quality of life they know would not exist.

This got me thinking about some research I did a few years ago, when I learned that the average American only lives 18 miles from their mother. Those in NY and PA only live on average 8 miles from their mothers. From Kentucky to Louisiana the average is 6 miles. Less than 20% of Americans live more than a few hours drive from mom. The further you move from home depends greatly on your education and income. For the most part, the wealthier you are, the more you can pay for child and elder care, making it easier to travel further from home. Also, the more educated, the more likely you are to travel to utilize your education in a specialized career field.

So what does this have to do with population density? Most Americans never leave the population density we were raised in. Why does this matter? Because that means most Americans can’t understand or relate to the needs of those that live in population densities that differ from their own.

My friends that have been raised in cities see guns primarily as a source of violence. My friends that live rurally see guns as a necessary tool for their way of life. My friends that have been raised rurally don’t understand the need for taxes and government services, where they come from you take care of your own problems. My friends that live in cities, could not imagine a life without public utilities and governmental oversight of social problems.

Neither are wrong. Their needs and perspective are just vastly different.

I also realized that I’m probably in a small percentage of the American population. I have spent the last 20 years living more than 2500 miles from my closest family members, which puts me into the 20% category plus I was raised and lived in both high density population areas and low density population areas throughout my life.

Here’s my life by population density:

Age: 0-10 Zip: 14613 Pop Dens: 7323.5 people per sq. mi.

Age: 11-18 Zip: 14468 Pop Dens: 345 people per sq. mi.

Age: 18-22 Zip: 14850 Pop Dens: 5,722 people per sq. mi.

Age: 25-32 Zip: 92606 Pop Dens: 4,913 people per sq. mi.

Age: 33-43 Zip: 91773/91750 Pop Dens 2,163/1245 people per sq. mi.

I went to inner city schools as a young child. I was upset that my mother could not put my hair in corn rows with the pretty beads like my friends wore. I learned civil rights songs taught to me by our bi-racial music teacher and came home and sang them for my disapproving father who was raised in Shinglehouse, PA with a population density of 26.5 people per sq. mi.

Then at the age of 11 my family moved out of the city and into the country. We lived on 20+ acres of land and the population was 98% white. I didn’t walk to school anymore, heck, we didn’t really walk to our neighbor’s house because country roads don’t have sidewalks.

Then I went away to college for 4 years where I lived part of that time on the 11th floor of a tower, with a shared elevator, lobby, and I didn’t own a car. I walked everywhere, took the bus or would grab a ride from my few friends with cars if it wasn’t feasible to take public transportation.

After college I moved to Southern California. I spent my first 10 years as an adult mostly living in condos and townhomes in wealthier higher density areas, where I would say the majority leaned slightly left, but there was a fiscally conservative undertone. But I spent most weekends taking my Jeep to lower population density areas to live a life more closely to what I had on the farm growing up. Less government oversights. No one ticketing my Jeep for a few stickers as a commercial vehicle, etc.

Currently, I live in Los Angeles County, one of the highest populations in the country. But I live in one of the lowest density zip codes within that county. We have horse property and rodeos, and one of the only country bars in Southern California. Our population is almost completely split down the middle between left and right. I don’t have a sidewalk but a half a mile down the road they do. I can walk to the 7/11 and the subway around the corner but need to drive to the closest grocery store.

I’ve come to realize that just about every polarizing debate I see my friends having; I can see both sides of the argument. And I’m starting to suspect it’s because I’ve lived in both their worlds. I can relate and understand their needs and where they are coming from because I’ve experienced each of their way of life to a certain extent. Most in this country are raised one way and live that way for life. And how we want to live really comes down to the population density in which we have existed.

I truly believe our population density experience matters more to our political views than education, income, race, gender or sexuality.

As a society we are so wrapped up in left vs. right. Liberal vs. conservative. We figure out which we identify with and lump every social/political issue we agree with into “our” category, and everyone we disagree with into “their” category. I don’t see this really helping us hear each other any better. It more results in people trying to prove why they are right.

Since I’ve started considering people’s population density experiences in life (if I know them and have a reasonable idea) I have found a new filter with which to view information that is far more conducive to understanding their point of view than the filters we currently use.

Mark Twain once wrote, “Travel is fatal to prejudice, bigotry, and narrow-mindedness, and many of our people need it sorely on these accounts. Broad, wholesome, charitable views of men and things cannot be acquired by vegetating in one little corner of the earth all one's lifetime.”

And while I think there’s some truth to that, travel in Mark Twain’s day and age is different than how we travel today. For instance, when I go to Baja, I like to stay in the small towns and eat at the local restaurants. But I have many friends that only go to all inclusive resorts, or stay in tourist areas, never venturing outside of the luxury they are there to enjoy. They don’t spend time in the rural areas seeing what life is really like. Traveling with ULTRA4 and for off road has kept me outside of most tourist areas. Where there’s only one place to stay and you have to explore local eating options. Seeing the countryside and how people live both in US and in Europe. I prefer to travel this way.

Many of us with the means to travel prefer to vacation how we live. The more rural we live day to day, the less spending a week in NYC sounds like fun. But going camping in the woods likely appeals to us. And those that live in cities, tend to not choose wilderness adventures for their downtime. The travel to help us see how other people live that existed in Twain’s time doesn’t really happen in our service oriented society where restaurants and hotels are abundant most places. We can eat at the same restaurants and sleep at the same hotels from one side of the country to the other. We’ve stopped getting outside of our own bubbles even when we travel.

I don’t know what we can do that would expose us to other ways of life like travel in Twain’s age did. But we probably need to figure it out to stop the divide from separating this country further.

From the beginning of 1900s through the Vietnam War between 7 and 9 percent of Americans were in military service. Today less than 0.5% of Americans serve in the military. That was one way that we used to expose Americans to life outside of what they grew up with. College is another way, but as costs have risen, more students continue to live at home and attend community colleges or local universities vs. leaving home to experience a different way of life between 18 and 22.

I find myself thinking about kids who go off to the army or away to college. They are forced outside their comfort zones. Some thrive there, some don’t. But they learn a different way of existing, at least for a little while. The type of travel Mark Twain is talking about. Part of me wonders if we shouldn’t offer some sort of service requirement for our youth between say 18 and 20 that requires them to get involved in something to help the country, away from where they were raised, military or civil service. If they were raised in a city, working on rural projects. If they were raised rurally, working on urban projects. Just to have a frame of reference for how diverse this country truly is and how different our needs are based on that diversity. But this is a topic for another day. You’ve already been too kind reading this far.

I don’t have the answers. But I’m glad I’ve finally put down some of the thoughts I’ve had floating around in my head regarding population density. Kudos to those of you that stuck it out.

If you’re like me and are curious about your own population density experiences, I’ve included a link in the comments where you can throw in zip codes and see what your exposure has been.

https://medium.com/@davetroy/is-population-density-the-key-to-understanding-voting-behavior-191acc302a2b

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mikhaelkosanik · 4 years

Text

Chapter 2 (google translate)

Autumn day played with its faded colors. Smears of colorful leaves, the gray sky hiding the sun, the smell of dampness in the air - all this accompanied me in my expectation.

Ahead there was a mesh of fence, blocking the sleepers from the adjacent territory and the city, and several roofs of warehouses and shops. Behind all the same, separated by a fence stood spreading massive trees. Their wet foliage played with bright yellow, red and brown colors. I stood on the platform of the station, trying to hide under a visor between two dusty lamps and a sign with the inscription "Brumaltown" hanging from it. Another cigarette smoldered in my hands, dispersing the bluish smoke. I smoked when I was nervous.

A chilly day, filling my gut with chill, made me look for ways to keep warm. I wrapped myself in a raincoat, but only the smoke from the cigarette warmed, striking my nose with the smell of tobacco. Though now my bad habit came in handy. And still it was worth throwing the cigarette out faster until a guard or controller passed by, ready to write a fine for smoking in the wrong place. Well, the platform was empty waiting for the train.

When I finished smoking, I peevishly looked around - if anyone was coming - and quickly threw the goby onto the rails.

“Uh, they didn’t notice,” I breathed with relief. I did not want to pay a fine of one hundred dollars.

This year, my family came together for the first time in a long time. Eunice, the youngest of the four, came last. This exciting event made me go to meet such a rare guest in these parts.

The train arrived a few minutes late, which gave me the opportunity to think a little about my problems. For the past week, protecting family values has demanded a report from me. But I was not in a hurry, making it clear: even without this paper work, it’s full of business. The deadlines were running out every day, and on top of the documents they demanded more and more insistently. There was no way to deal with the faceless bureaucratic machine, and I just pretended to be extremely busy. In any case, all these pieces of paper did not concern me much. My job is counseling. And above it knew no worse than me.

Finally, in the distance, the nose of the train appeared, looming with the warm yellowish light of the headlights. Usually at such times the fog was shrouded all around, but, fortunately, the air was crystal clear, making it possible to enjoy the autumn before the rains came to these parts. I sighed, understanding what tonight would be.

“It's good that I was able to come. Without her, there would have been a real nightmare, ”I thought, looking at the incoming train.

The train stopped with a loud clang, opening its doors. It seemed completely alien to this place: massive, angular, with a huge bell between the tiny windows of the driver's cab. A muffled sound came from the car, informing passengers of the name of the station.

Unlike the old wooden station, whose floorboards creaked, the gigantic violet-orange color with the railway symbol looked new. And even though the composition was covered with dust, and the train itself looked like a tin can in places with relief and inserts made of ordinary metal, where corrosion showed through the paint, this did not at all plead its novelty, regarding the kind of wooden platform.

As soon as the doors opened, people began to hurry out of the cars. Among them were locals who returned from work and tourists who wanted to see the town about which there were legends. In this small mosaic I caught my eye with a familiar figure.

“I don't have to meet, Leo!” Eunice said displeasedly, coming up to me. - I have not been a little girl for a long time!

Despite the discontent, the sight of the sister said otherwise. She was clearly happy about the care on my part. As soon as Eunice came up, I immediately smelled a strong smell of perfume. Apparently, she wanted to hide behind him the fatigue from the trip and the excitement with which she was waiting for a meeting. I did not dare to criticize this suffocating and tasteless smell. Noting that the sister was off the road, and wrinkles and swelling were spread under her eyes with a treacherous net, I quickly waved my hand:

- Come on. Everyone is waiting for us.

We went down the wooden stairs, which sounded like a subtle creak, and passed several shops.

The railway passed behind them, circling the poorest district of the city. Not surprisingly: the city was located quite far from major highways and highways. The lion's share of supplies - what was earlier, what is now - was made by train. That's why the station was rebuilt in the industrial zone during the reconstruction of the city.

Once in the old car, we headed towards the parental home. Our area, located in the northeast, was considered prestigious. Far enough from here. The path came through the whole town. As I drove away from the station, I noticed nostalgia in the eyes of my younger sister. Eunice almost never visited Brumaltown, living with her family on the other side of the country. Her income was low, and she could not always come to such family gatherings, often limiting herself to calls once or twice a week. Moreover, albeit a small, but still “family” demanded a lot of strength from her sister.

Eunice sometimes could not cope with her wayward and lively daughter, which only added to her problems. Noisy, mischievous, as if in her uncle and aunt, Poppy was at times ugly at school, organized pranks, sometimes very offensive, and even frustrated her lessons a couple of times. No exhortations worked, and Eunice at times simply looked at her daughter’s actions through her fingers.

Poppy's father almost did not participate in raising his daughter, preferring work to family. Eunice justified this with expensive housing and high expenses, but I understood that this was not entirely true.

No, I do not argue, Noel loved Eunice, but over the years this love began to turn into a routine for both. In their relationship, the former spark went out. As a result, the whole household and daughter rested on her sister's shoulders. It is sad that from this her talents were wasted. She is, after all, an equally capable psychologist, as father used to say. But I was not FVP and did not want to interfere in her life.

The trip to the parents' house also turned out to be long and exhausting: fly by plane, and then transfer to the train. For everything - about six hours. Here Eunice appeared extremely rarely in her native land.

While we were driving, I myself involuntarily recalled the history of this place, which has become home for our family. I remember how we moved here during the restoration.

As far as I remember, the town of Brumaltown has never been large. Formed around a woodworking factory at the beginning of the century, he could hardly boast of city status in those years. The population at that time was from the strength of two thousand people, and all of them were workers of this very factory, and even their families, who were not afraid to move to the wilderness. Before the war, almost no one knew about this town. Even the names did not bother to come up with.

When the world plunged into bloody strife, the invaders from the south did not attach much importance to the small settlement of a dozen tiny shack houses and only destroyed the factory, having stolen everything of value that they could find in it. Compared to the capital and major cities, where after the armistice almost every building had to be rebuilt from scratch, the town of Brumaltown looked quite decent. This was written on the pages of textbooks and remembered during the celebration of McKirby Day.

When the war came to an end, the town was completely empty: the destroyed nature has now become very valuable, and all the states that have survived in the least have been equated with nature reserves. From that moment on, it was forbidden by law to use more than ten percent of natural resources per year. Here the factory bent, not getting a chance for a new life. Local, devoid of a single income, then willingly left their houses in search of a better life. But before the war ended, a new disaster came: the period of overpopulation of large cities came. The war, together with the fuel crisis, did their job and turned the great country into two bits with empty and contaminated lands in the center.

The migration of survivors of dead lands destroyed by biological weapons has increased population density to unimaginable limits. The stuffy, dusty megacities have become shelters for hundreds of thousands of afflicted. This led to a lack of housing and work. Consider the new Great Depression. It was then that many towns that had sunk into oblivion began to be remembered and re-populated.

So this town again found its inhabitants. Because of the cold winters, he was dubbed Brumaltown. I think it is justified. Unlike the capital, the town is far enough from the bay, and the climate here is much cooler and harsher. And if you take into account that the chilly wet air from the bay still reached, the winters here were felt very cold and snowy.

Since the rebirth, the town has grown. There was also public transport. Although the language didn’t turn out to be called developed: the bus route, and the three-lane railway station with a branch from one to the shipping docks of the shops — that’s all public transport. No airport, no taxi, no tram or metro.

The town was very small. If you wish, you can walk around it in a couple of hours. Therefore, no one saw the point in the dominance of transport.

I found those times when Brumaltown was not yet located on every map, and the inhabitants deceived that they lived in larger neighboring cities. True, then the population hardly exceeded 5-6 thousand people. Now in the town there were about 25 thousand inhabitants.

The town was obliged by the last round of popularity to the history of the Grasse family. I was then a very young child, so I could not track the development of this story. I could hardly then predict how the story of one girl would change the whole world.

Emma's notes, released a couple of years after moving to Brumaltown, influenced all orders in society, forcing a number of laws and conventions to be adopted. The fact that they had not advertised before, became unpleasant, but officially recognized: there is the Mehoni virus, it cannot be cured, and there is no getting around it. These diseases and the diaries of Emma stirred up the whole world and left no one indifferent!

After the scandal with the publication of records, society in many countries can only accept the fact that 8% of women in the world are sick with the Mehoni virus, which causes autoimmune necrosis.

Gradually, very scarce information about the virus and the history of Emma herself began to exaggerate in society, which allowed the inhabitants to put up with a constant number of patients. Emma lived the rest of her life in Brumaltown. She did not like to talk about where she lived with her family, wanting to spend the rest of the days alone. But rumors about Brumaltown still went around the country, glorifying the town at the level of local folklore.

There were also enough sights here: the Grasse family house, which became a museum, a small planetarium, and a monument to the same soldier McKirby. But rare tourists annually visited to look at the "town from the story of Emma."

Someone came from other countries to satisfy their curiosity: is the town really so terrible as it was sometimes described in urban legends by residents of larger neighboring cities. But there were far fewer foreign tourists compared to the inhabitants of the Northern States or Dixieland.

“How's Poppy doing?” I asked, remembering the lively and mischievous niece.

“Good,” Eunice smiled, continuing to look out the window.

The landscapes of childhood flashed before her eyes. The central square, small streets and low houses with a maximum of five floors evoked fond memories of Eunice, although she rarely visited the town. Her childhood passed here, and she appreciated this mischievous and fun time. Now he cannot be returned; years have taken their toll. They, like sand in a watch, flowed away, changing everything: only smiling smiling good eyes the color of moonlight reminded of a little brisk girl, and freckles scattered from cheek to cheek, framing red faces with their red stars, like a pink sky.

And yet, sometimes, the sister wanted, as before, to run along the old paths in the park, walk through the shops, and eat ice cream in her favorite cafe. It is a pity that this did not work: instead of a cute girl, a tired adult woman with her problems and concerns looked at Eunice from the reflection in the glass.

- Already in the fifth grade I went. She says she likes it, ”continued Eunice, not looking up from contemplating the view from the window. - So far, it’s not a hooligan.

In the meantime, I was thinking about the upcoming meeting. It was lonely, because only two such gatherings in the parental home I did not come alone. The younger ones, on the contrary, always came with their families, pouring salt into my wound.

The only consolation now: Eunice, too, this time alone. And the younger sister is very close to me. She is closer to me than the twins. Eunice understood a lot and often helped in difficult situations. It somehow brightened the upcoming evening. I even smiled sadly: "Only after becoming a widow do you begin to appreciate scandals."

Having arrived at a small two-story house at the very beginning of the street and parked at the sidewalk that separated the lawn from the road, I already wanted to help my sister with my luggage, when my cell phone rang.

- Good afternoon, are you Leo Berdnik? Asked a trembling male voice on the other end.

“Yes, I am listening to you,” I answered a little cautiously, having seen earlier that the call was from an unfamiliar number.

“They gave me your phone at the Everplace Hospital.” They said that you specialize in difficult cases with foster children and children under guardianship. That you are one of the few psychologists who take difficult cases with “pink” families, - the person who addressed was nervous. This made him speak very fast. Almost chattering. And I had to concentrate and listen very carefully so as not to miss anything from what was said.

“Let's meet in my office tomorrow,” I suggested, realizing that I could hardly help on the phone. Yes, and the very combination of the “pink” family inspired a lot of unpleasant memories. “Please write down my address.” When I finished dictating and hung up, I got out of the car.

There was nothing to help: Eunice quickly picked up a small suitcase on wheels from the trunk and ran into the house. Most likely, she was already embracing with her stepmother and father, enthusiastically talking about her household.

Sighing, I took out a cigarette again. The stepmother was against smoking in the house - so I have to do it nearby. While smoking, I decided to look around: a lot of houses were empty this year. This was indicated by tablets on the lawns with the inscriptions: "For sale." Well, yes, the children grew up, they need to be taught for something. Yes, and there is little work. If you want a lot of money, either ride to larger cities, or moderate your appetite.

The area was considered prestigious, located quite far from the industrial zone, but not so far from the center of the town. The houses here have always been famous for their comfort and spaciousness. Except for one, on the outskirts, they sold easily and found their customers at any time. A lot of neighbors were replaced in my memory. Families, although they valued this town, often settled here only while the children were growing. Over the past twenty years, the situation with overpopulation of cities has returned to normal, and the small outback was of much less interest to young people than large cities in the east or west of the country.

Of course, there were those who remained, living their years in the shadow of sprawling massive trees and surrounded by hedges. The silence of the town, its small size liked the old-timers, and savings or third-party incomes allowed these people to not cling so eagerly to work. There were those who returned after school. But for the most part they preferred the center with its cheap apartments. Yes, and I knew a little. Mostly young people left the town to study in college, and then did not return. Parents also left for them in search of new hobbies and new life goals.

The dank day did not want to end, which is why the cigarette smoldered slowly in my hand. This allowed to peer deep into the street for a long time with its yellow-green colors of autumn, which bright spots and drops diluted the gray background of the clouds. When the decayed and finally damp cigarette butt was thrown aside, it was time for me to go to my parents' house. I tried to get in as quietly as possible, but it didn’t work, and I was immediately greeted by the rumble of voices and the smell of food. As soon as I crossed the threshold of my parents' home, I immediately became the center of attention of my three nephews. They liked to communicate with me, because, unlike my parents, I did not condemn them and tried to help if they shared problems with me. I tried to smile so that the children would not see my confusion and longing that autumn evening. My nightmare began slowly.

***

The evening was lively. All the guests had fun talking, Eunice and Jay helped the stepmother set the table and cook dinner. Father told his grandchildren stories about his turbulent youth, and then we all laughed together, recalling various funny cases from our childhood. As I expected, Johan and his twin sister Jay came here with their families.

This half-brother this time brought his weather boys and his wife Lulu, and his sister took only the youngest daughter Sammy, who recently turned three years old. There was nothing surprising in this: the parental house could accommodate a very limited number of guests.

I was always surprised that the children of Johan inherited blond hair from him, while Lulu, his wife, was dark and rather dark. Most likely, in her family there were immigrants from Mexico, but I'm not sure about that. But the kids Jay went to their father with their bright red curls, because their mother had a completely faded, "mouse" hair color. But that only concerned hair. Surprisingly, if Johan’s children went to mother with facial features, taking only hair from their father, then Jay’s children, on the contrary, only inherited hair from their father, the rest was taken from their mother. “Well, castling!” I thought, looking at my nephews.

“Why didn't you bring the rest?” - Johan was very surprised at the sister’s decision to take only the youngest daughter. “You usually dragged the whole family.”

“Brought it if some had not cut off and brought all their horde!” - parried Jay, poking at his brother with a finger with a bright manicure.

Boy Jay, whom I remembered with eternal bruises and a band-aid on her nose, was now a well-groomed and beautiful woman. Yes, she did not look like a mother, unlike her brother, but she more than compensated for her appearance with character. So quarrelsome and restless. And yet this couple had something in common ...

After school, the brother and sister left, creating their own families and preferring to see each other only at such family gatherings. Why they did this, I did not know. In childhood, the two were very close. Literally everything was done together. Maybe Johan was tired of his sister’s eternal commands? Or maybe he just got bored with a maturing Jay over the years?

“Where am I?” - immediately grumbled brother. - Every year we come here. - Johan inherited from his stepmother blonde hair, the same dark eyes and nose, the tip of which bent down. My brother had to work hard to provide for his family. This was reflected in his character - from a bully he turned into a calm guy.

- Yes? - the sister did not let up, clasping her sides with her hands. - Last year I was only with my wife, the year before last ...

The twins, unlike Eunice, came every year, shaking the parental house with quarrels or noisy gatherings. Jay herself sometimes visited her parents, but she alone was quite quiet and even tolerable. Affected work in a bookstore.

- I also remembered! - Johan interrupted, glowing. - You would still remember how I stole candy from you in three years.

- By itself! - laughed Jay. - Drive my candy!

For a word, she did not climb into her pocket, and a good memory only helped her in a variety of squabbles. It is simply amazing that Jay had four children, and in some way incomprehensible to me, she coped with all of them. The half-sister obviously went to stepmother!

I remember how often I received because of these unbearable children. It was impossible to keep track of them in childhood, and they constantly broke something, climbed up somewhere and regularly messed up at school. Well, Eunice wasn’t a hassle. Probably because of this, she was very close to me. Or maybe the big difference in age affected?

There was still time before dinner, and the family members gathered together communicated with each other. The little one also had fun: the boys of Johan brought toy pistols and played, running around the house one after another.

- Injured! - shouted alone.

- Not fair! - answered the second. - Not injured! That you are killed! Aah! Zombie! The aliens have revived you!

- Fool! There were no aliens in the Wild West! - Catching up the younger, shouted Will.

- There were! On it were!

Soon the boys climbed to the second floor. I think they had something to play with there. Oh, and the stepmother will be angry if her now unbearable grandchildren break something! But I don’t have to follow them: adult parents, over there, are sitting at the table in the dining room. Sammy, meanwhile, went from room to room, tapping the pan with a spoon.

“Why did you get a jar from the kitchen?” I was surprised when my niece came up to me with a can on her head, hitting me in the pan, as if in a drum.

- I'm a jerk! - the girl grinned right away. - I'm leading a palad! And after me is an oestre! - a small puffy pen pointed to a small column of dolls tied to a rope. They all dragged along the floor on their leash. For a three-year-old girl, it was a parade, but I had completely different associations. But I decided not to sound like that. He grows up - he learns at history lessons.

Judging by the fact that neither mother nor the rest did not scold Sammy for the theft of utensils from the kitchen, they were not up to her. Looked around. Well, yes, Eunice talked with her father, Johan and Lulu discussed children's assessments, and Jay in the kitchen argued about something with her stepmother. Surprisingly, the stepmother, Bernice, did not respond to the loss. Maybe I didn’t notice? In the heat of heated debate she could.

I removed a can from my niece’s head, took a spoon and a pan, offering to watch a cartoon. Just walked the old "Wolf, dog and mouse." So many memories of this post-war cartoon. Yes, there was an allusion to “pink” families in it, but the cartoon was no worse from this. Even his father, a skeptic in life, a terrible bore and a rather gallful person, liked this cartoon. What can I say about me and Eunice who grew up on these heroes. Sammy said with displeasure that she wanted to lead the orchestra, but still sat next to me.

- Who took the can and pan? - squealed Bernice, leaving the kitchen.

With her nose bent at the end, dark large eyes and a very magnificent chest, her stepmother was like an owl. Especially now, going out in a dress with ruffles and the same openwork apron. Well, like an owl! You look at that, it will start to hoot. Which would be very comical with her tall, nasty, squeaky voice.

I handed out the utensils, pointing to my niece, absorbed in the action in the cartoon. Bernice immediately jerked up the dishes, grunted, and hid again in the kitchen. I could not resist this and smiled ... Yes ... The stepmother's children are great. Their taste for life is relentless. Only Eunice and I remained aloof with our problems. I envied the twins a little: their spouses supported them, loved and, most importantly, were with them. Not like that with Eunice ...

When the cartoon ended, it was the turn of the news. The clock was just seven in the evening. Sammy reached out to the remote in frustration, but I did not give her that. For once, I wanted to see the news block without comment. “The next fuel crisis is beginning,” the announcer said measuredly from the screen. - The Southern Independent Confederation delays fuel supplies for several days. The production of hydrogen elements fails, and the citizens of the North States of America are preparing to raise food prices, ”then they showed several interviews on this subject, where people bought food for the future. Someone complained that insurance and fuel are too expensive, and keeping a car is more at a loss. I knew that gasoline prices had already risen, even though the government was trying to contain this growth. True, the state could not restrain prices forever. And I understood that very well. Yes, right after the split of the north and south, a lot of effort was devoted to creating alternative fuels. Hydrogen blocks, nuclear engines, and electric motors appeared. But they received the main distribution in heavy equipment. Combines, trains, planes - all of them worked on hydrogen. Cars still required gasoline. No matter how many attempts there were to create a small and powerful hydrogen engine, nothing came of it. The technologies of electric cars of the past also did not take root - they were too expensive for the mass buyer after all the crises. Although biodiesel engines have recently begun to appear, the production of this fuel has proven to be more expensive than buying oil from neighbors.

It is good that Brumaltown was rebuilt very compactly after a new settlement. It is quite possible to live without constant trips by car: everything is at hand.

“To other news. The first tourist group visited Utah. According to experts, the level of biological pollution has decreased and returned to normal over the past fifty years, and now this territory can be equated to the reserve. However, according to experts, pollution levels are still high in neighboring states. Cleansing procedures can take several more decades. ”

I involuntarily recalled the lessons of history from high school, namely, as we were told about the horrors of biological weapons of the past. Yes, I did not find any war, nor those times when the south and north were one. But I knew those who caught. Then, eighty years ago, there was a single country, and not two flaps with dead lands between them. Millions died in that war. And the saddest thing is that not a single country in the world could survive. Everyone suffered.

Having finished this news, the announcer passed the floor to his charming colleague: “This year, additional funding was allocated to support the“ pink ”marriages. The state congress believes that it is possible to increase the percentage of new unions ”- continued this news by an interview with one of the WCC employees who complained that during the period of liberalization the percentage of cohabitation without official registration began to grow. Due to several laws, it was difficult to track such a thing, and the “defenders” only had to wash their bound hands. I smiled sadly at the latest news:

- Cancel the Epo and restrictions - get such an increase, which has not been since the beginning of the century!

Sammy heard this and, turning to me, asked:

- Uncle Leo, and what is Epo?

- The procedure is this. After the wedding they go through it, - it seemed to me that this explanation is enough.

I knew the essence of the procedure, but I did not see any reason to acquaint the three-year-old even with official information. What can we say about the real component.

“If you grow up, you will learn more,” I added.

- I know! - the niece jumped up right away, shaking her red curls. - Mom was talking! These are the cools!

I shrugged: courses so courses. I had no idea what Jay was saying to her children and what was not. I did not want to quarrel, and I was more silent and listening, occasionally assenting.

About what is the Epo, I did not want to think even more so. These memories were very painful for me, and I tried to drive them away from me as far as possible. But only from year to year it became increasingly difficult. It was too painful to recall that the consequences of this "procedure" killed my husband Ivy.

The fact that this procedure is necessary and is the key to a happy marriage was said to all representatives of the third sex - eno. Everyone was introduced to the official information. Someone took it, someone not. But as soon as the official union took shape, any eno had no choice. For each person of the third sex, there was always only one choice - either loneliness or Epo a year after the wedding. True, in some places the procedure was carried out before the registration of marriage. It really depended on the region and the family.

- Hey! - Over my head came a few clicks of fingers. “We are only waiting for you.” They set the table! - Eunice still knew how to rescue me from captivity of heavy thoughts.

I sighed and, getting up from the couch, wandered into the dining room, where there was just an empty space between my father and Eunice. To my misfortune, Derek and Matilda joined the family meeting, who were not our relatives, but considered themselves good friends of the family. They either came, or pretended to be very busy. Predicting their appearance from year to year became increasingly difficult, and each time I was afraid of a new awkward meeting.

The appearance of this couple in the house became tense: Derek is my ex-boyfriend, and Matilda was constantly jealous of him to me. And although our relationship came to a standstill many years ago, Matilda still did not trust me, considering her rival. It is amazing that a guy who used to wear a pink hoop and considered himself eno can get a wife who will also be jealous of him. I understood that the third sex had a choice: to be with a man or a woman, but I still wondered how Derek got along with his wife. Although, perhaps, the similarity of characters and interests helped them? Ivi used to come to the rescue, protecting from the barbs and rudeness of Matilda. But he was not with us. Now the title of my defender passed Eunice. She snapped a couple of times at lunges, forcing me not to speak badly about me with the rest.

“You also came off in college,” said Derek, kissing Matilda. “Or should I remind you of George?”

Blushing with anger and resentment, the woman fell silent, lost in thought: she remembered the last unsuccessful novel, which ended on the initiative of the guy. When peace reigned in the house, I began to think that tomorrow I would communicate with a very difficult client.

“Okay,” I decided, realizing that I wanted to stay with my family, “you can’t rush to conclusions for now. We need to talk with these people. ”

The rest of the evening went over a family dinner. We remembered both good and difficult times in our lives.

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thevividgreenmoss · 5 years

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The process of forcibly integrating colonized peoples into the capitalist labour system caused widespread dislocation (a history I cover in The Divide). Remember, this is the period of the Belgian labour system in the Congo, which so upended local economies that 10 million people died – half the population. This is the period of the Natives Land Act in South Africa, which dispossessed the country’s black population of 90% of the country. This is the period of the famines in India, where 30 million died needlessly as a result of policies the British imposed on Indian agriculture. This is the period of the Opium Wars in China and the unequal treaties that immiserated the population. And don’t forget: all of this was conducted in the name of the “free market”.

All of this violence, and much more, gets elided in your narrative and repackaged as a happy story of progress. And you say I’m the one possessed of romantic fairy tales.

The Maddison database on which you rely might tell us what the dispossessed gained in income (eventually), but it does not tell us whether those gains offset their loss of lands, commons, supportive communities, stable local economies. And it tells us nothing about what global South economies might be like today had they been free to industrialize on their own terms (take the case of India, for instance).

Let me be clear: this is not a critique of industrialization as such. It is a critique of how industrialization was carried out during the period in question. If people had willingly opted into the capitalist labour system, while retaining rights to their commons and while gaining a fair share of the yields they produced, we would have a very different story on our hands. So let’s celebrate what industrialization has achieved – absolutely – but place it in proper context: colonization, violence, dispossession and all. All we gain from ignoring this history is ignorance.

Now, to the present period.

You say that the “massive fall of global extreme poverty” is simply a neutral fact of the data. But here again the data on this is more complex than you have ever acknowledged (I collaborated with Charles Kenny to review the basics here).

The narrative that you and Gates peddle relies on a poverty line of $1.90 per day. You are aware, I’m sure, that this line is not a neutral phenomenon, handed down by the gods or given in nature. It was invented by people, is used for particular ends, and is hotly contested both inside and outside of academia. Most scholars regard $1.90 as far too low to be meaningful, for reasons I have outlined in my work many times (see here and here). See Reddy and Lahoti’s withering critique of the $1.90 methodology here.

Here are a few points to keep in mind. Using the $1.90 line shows that only 700 million people live in poverty. But note that the UN’s FAO says that 815 million people do not have enough calories to sustain even “minimal” human activity. 1.5 billion are food insecure, and do not have enough calories to sustain “normal” human activity. And 2.1 billion suffer from malnutrition. How can there be fewer poor people than hungry and malnourished people? If $1.90 is inadequate to achieve basic nutrition and sustain normal human activity, then it’s too low – period. It’s time for you and Gates to stop using it. Lifting people above this line doesn’t mean lifting them out of poverty, “extreme” or otherwise.

Remember: $1.90 is the equivalent of what that amount of money could buy in the US in 2011. The economist David Woodward once calculated that to live at this level (in an earlier base year) would be like 35 people trying to survive in Britain “on a single minimum wage, with no benefits of any kind, no gifts, borrowing, scavenging, begging or savings to draw on (since these are all included as ‘income’ in poverty calculations).” That goes beyond any definition of “extreme”. It is patently absurd. It is an insult to humanity.

...But what’s really at stake here for you, as your letter reveals, is the free-market narrative that you have constructed. Your argument is that neoliberal capitalism is responsible for driving the most substantial gains against poverty. This claim is intellectually dishonest, and unsupported by facts. Here’s why:The vast majority of gains against poverty have happened in one region: East Asia. As it happens, the economic success of China and the East Asian tigers – as scholars like Ha-Joon Chang and Robert Wade have long pointed out – is due not to the neoliberal markets that you espouse but rather state-led industrial policy, protectionism and regulation (the same measures that Western nations used to such great effect during their own period of industrial consolidation). They liberalized, to be sure – but they did so gradually and on their own terms. Not so for the rest of the global South. Indeed, these policy options were systematically denied to them, and destroyed where they already existed. From 1980 to 2000, the IMF and World Bank imposed brutal structural adjustment programs that did exactly the opposite: slashing tariffs, subsidies, social spending and capital controls while reversing land reforms and privatizing public assets – all in the face of massive public resistance. During this period, the number of people in poverty outside China increased by 1.3 billion. In fact, even the proportion of people living in poverty (to use your preferred method) increased, from 62% to 68%. (For detailed economic data and references to the relevant literature, see Chapter 5 of The Divide).

In other words, the imposition of neoliberal capitalism from 1980 to 2000 made the poverty rate worse, not better.

Since 2000, the most impressive gains against poverty (outside of East Asia) have come from Latin America, according to the World Bank, coinciding with a series of left-wing or social democratic governments that came to power across the continent. Whatever one might say about these governments (I have my own critiques), this doesn’t sit very well with your neoliberal narrative.

But there is something else that needs to be said here. You and Gates like to invoke the poverty numbers to make claims about the legitimacy of the existing global economic system. You say the system is working for the poor, so people should stop complaining about it.

When it comes to assessing such a claim, it’s really neither absolute numbers nor proportions that matter. What matters, rather, is the extent of global poverty vis-à-vis our capacity to end it. As I have pointed out before, our capacity to end poverty (e.g., the cost of ending poverty as a proportion of the income of the non-poor) has increased many times faster than the proportional poverty rate has decreased (to use your preferred measure again). By this metric we are doing worse than ever before. Indeed, our civilization is regressing. Why? Because the vast majority of the yields of our global economy are being captured by the world’s rich.

As I pointed out in the Guardian piece, only 5% of new income from global growth goes to the poorest 60% of humanity – people living on less than $7.40/day. You have neither acknowledged this as a problem nor attempted to defend it. Instead you just ignore it, I suppose because it undermines your claims about how well the economy is working for poor people.

Here’s how well it’s working: on our existing trajectory, according to research published in the World Economic Review, it will take more than 100 years to end poverty at $1.90/day, and over 200 years to end it at $7.4/day. Let that sink in. And to get there with the existing system – in other words, without a fairer distribution of income – we will have to grow the global economy to 175 times its present size. Even if such an outlandish feat were possible, it would drive climate change and ecological breakdown to the point of undermining any gains against poverty.

It doesn’t have to be this way, of course. We can end poverty right now simply by making the rules of our global economy fairer for the world’s majority (I describe how we can do this in The Divide, looking at everything from wages to debt to trade). But that is an approach that you and Gates seem desperate to avoid, in favour of a blustering defense of the status quo.

#go OFF #essays #*

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antoine-roquentin · 5 years

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In recent months some have said of the migrants, “Instead of running away, they should try to change the situation in their country!” Only those unfamiliar with the Honduran situation could say such a thing. Anyone who opposes it, anyone who criticizes or tries to change it, risks death. Between 2010 and 2016, more than 120 environmental and human rights activists were killed in Honduras. Freedom of the press is also under siege, as Reporters Without Borders has documented. Honduras is one of the most dangerous Latin American countries for journalists, seventy of whom have been killed there since 2001, with more than 90 percent of those murders going unpunished. Anyone who writes has two choices: leave the country or stop writing. Exile yourself or censor yourself. Otherwise you may be sued for libel—libel suits are expensive to defend against, and even if journalists are eventually cleared, their credibility in the eyes of the public is often damaged. Or you may be jailed on false charges, or killed. And attacks on the freedom of the press come not only from criminal organizations, but also from politicians.

President Trump talks about the migrant caravan as if it were an attempted invasion. In reality, Honduras and Central America have paid an enormous price precisely because of US policies. The dire situation in Honduras right now is shaped by the drug market, and the world’s largest consumer of cocaine is the United States. As early as 1975, Honduras was being used as a staging area by the Cali Cartel, led by the Rodríguez Orejuela brothers (the powerful rivals of Pablo Escobar, the head of the Medellín Cartel). After their arrest, they told prosecutors that cocaine left Colombia by plane and landed in San Pedro Sula—the city from which the caravan originated—and from there went on to Miami.

Through the 1980s, the Colombian cartels transported their cocaine to the US mainly by boat, across the Caribbean to Florida. But when the US Drug Enforcement Administration ramped up inspections in those waters and began seizing more and more shipments, the land route to the United States from Central America through Mexico (with the help of Mexican traffickers) became a better alternative. And when the civil wars in El Salvador and Guatemala ended (in 1992 and 1996, respectively), that route was used more and more, since criminal organizations prefer to steer clear of conflict zones.

But the end of those conflicts also created another opportunity for the cartels. During the civil wars, many parents in El Salvador, in order to keep their sons from becoming either guerrillas of the Farabundo Martí National Liberation Front (FMLN) or regular army soldiers destined for slaughter, sent them to the United States. Abandoned to their fate in Los Angeles, marginalized by American society, some of these youths formed the maras, street gangs of young Central American immigrants who banded together to defend themselves from the African-American, Asian, and Mexican gangs already active there. Thus were born extremely violent, close-knit groups such as Mara Salvatrucha (MS-13) and Mara 18 (also known as the 18th Street gang or Barrio 18), whose names came from the LA streets that were their headquarters.2

Once the Central American civil wars had ended, the US government, eager to rid itself of this problem, sent back to their native lands thousands of young men. Having left as boys, they returned as gangsters. In those ravaged countries where poverty was rampant, they saw opportunity in the drug trade, and at the same time the cartels, always looking for new muscle, found them. Meanwhile, Honduras, the one country in the region untouched by civil war, had been used not only as a smuggling hub by criminal organizations but also as a base for US efforts to supply the contras, the paramilitary group fighting the socialist government of Nicaragua. Everything, that is, passed through Honduras—both drugs and weapons—goods that often shared not only routes but also intermediaries. The story of the Honduran drug lord Juan Ramón Matta-Ballesteros is illustrative: he forged a link between the Medellín Cartel and the Guadalajara Cartel (revenue from their cocaine shipments to the United States reached $5 million a week in the 1980s), and he also worked for the US government, using his air transport company to deliver arms to the contras.

The involvement of the United States goes further. In 2008 the US government signed the Mérida Initiative with Mexico and the Central American countries, a multiyear agreement under which it pledged to cooperate in the fight against drug trafficking by providing those countries (especially Mexico) with economic support, police training, and military resources. This crackdown pushed the Mexican cartels—already under pressure from the war on drugs that Mexican president Felipe Calderón had begun in 2006—to lean increasingly on Central America and its drug gangs.

The Honduran situation worsened on June 28, 2009, when a military coup forced President Manuel Zelaya to flee to Costa Rica. Zelaya had been elected with the support of the rich conservatives of the Partido Liberal, but during his term, which began in 2006, he proved open to dialogue with minority groups and friendly to the poorest, least powerful classes. In an effort to improve his country’s economy and his people’s lives, he joined the Bolivarian Alliance for the Peoples of Our America (ALBA), an organization conceived by former Venezuelan president Hugo Chávez to promote economic cooperation among the countries of Latin America and to counter the influence of the US over them.

But Zelaya was veering too far to the left for the Honduran oligarchy that had put him in power. The chance to oust him arose when he called for an advisory referendum on the election of a constituent assembly to rewrite the Honduran constitution with the goal of increasing participatory democracy and citizen equality. The assembly could also have removed presidential term limits, which under article 239 of the Honduran constitution could not even be proposed; this was enough for coup leaders to justify removing him, despite the fact that the referendum was merely advisory and therefore nonbinding. (Article 239 was struck down by the Honduran Supreme Court in 2015.)

After the coup, in the political instability that followed, criminal organizations ramped up their activities, taking advantage of corrupt police forces and often colluding with politicians and members of the military. On December 8, 2009, the Honduran government’s drug czar, Julián Arístides González Irías, was assassinated on his way to work: after he had dropped his daughter off at school, a car blocked the road and a motorcycle approached, one of its two riders firing an Uzi through the window of his SUV. Years later it was discovered that the murder had been ordered by high-ranking Honduran police officials and planned in one of their offices, revelations that led to a law enforcement shake-up in which over five thousand officers were dismissed on corruption charges. But in October 2018 a new and embarrassing piece was added to this already disheartening puzzle: the man who had been in charge of the “purification” of the force, National Police Commissioner Lorgio Oquelí Mejía Tinoco, was himself accused of money laundering and corruption, among other things, and is now a fugitive.

This story and many others make clear that Honduras is a de facto narco state. In 2009 Porfirio Lobo Sosa won the first presidential election after the coup; in May 2016 his son Fabio pleaded guilty to drug trafficking charges in the US, hoping for a reduced sentence. He got twenty-four years in prison. Judge Lorna Schofield said at his sentencing:

You were the son of the sitting president of Honduras, and you used your connections, your reputation in your political network to try to further corrupt connections between drug traffickers and Honduran government officials…. You facilitated strong government support for a large drug trafficking organization for multiple elements of the Honduran government, and you enriched yourself in the process.

And history may repeat itself: Juan Antonio (Tony) Hernández, a former Honduran congressman and the brother of the current president, Juan Orlando Hernández, was arrested in Miami on November 23, 2018, for his alleged ties to drug traffickers, particularly Los Cachiros, whose leader claimed in a US court to have paid him kickbacks when he was in Congress. According to the indictment, from 2004 to 2016 Hernández was involved in the trafficking through Honduras of tons of cocaine destined for the US: he accepted bribes from the traffickers, and he hired armed guards and bribed law enforcement officials to protect drug shipments and to keep quiet. Further, authorities discovered that certain cocaine labs Hernández had access to in Honduras and Colombia were producing bricks of cocaine stamped with the initials TH, which may stand for Tony Hernández. He is awaiting trial and, if convicted, faces a maximum term of life in prison.

In 2010 the United States for the first time identified Honduras as one of the major drug transit countries and since then has cooperated with Honduran authorities to combat drug trafficking. But the offensive has involved only efforts to suppress criminal organizations and has shown no real willingness to tackle, at a societal level, the problem of drug trafficking and gangs, for which the US bears a great deal of responsibility. President Trump limits himself to exploiting the effects of the tragedy: when he speaks about the caravan, he talks of “invaders,” of “stone cold criminals,” who must be coming to the US to occupy and plunder. None of this is true. But to understand, we must grasp how badly US policy has failed and how culpable and terribly complicit it is in the current situation.

Today the maras—the gangs—provide the best employment opportunities for youth in Central America. According to a 2012 report from the United Nations Office on Drugs and Crime, the maras in El Salvador had about 20,000 members, those in Guatemala about 22,000, and those in Honduras about 12,000 (though a report that same year from USAID indicated a much higher number in Honduras). As Corrado Alvaro, an Italian writer from Calabria—a region plagued even in his day by the mafia group known as ’Ndrangheta—wrote in 1955, “When a society offers few opportunities, or none, to improve one’s station, creating fear becomes a way to rise.” Mareros, or gang members, tattoo their face and body to signal their gang membership and to openly declare their separation from civilian society, as if their gangs were military divisions operating in a sort of parallel life. Gangs control the territory and protect the trafficking of the big cartels. Businesses are subjected to shakedowns, streets become the scenes of clashes between rival gangs competing for dealing locations, and the jungle is a no-man’s land in which clandestine runways are carved for planes loaded with cocaine. Some urban areas are off-limits to ordinary citizens; a perpetual curfew reigns. The maras recruit boys—younger each year—as drug-trafficking foot soldiers; refusing to join can be fatal.

Because no one protects the populace from the abuses and threats of the gangs, people feel abandoned and in constant danger. This feeling is exacerbated by the extraordinary level of impunity in Honduras. In 2013, Attorney General Luis Alberto Rubí caused an uproar by declaring before the Honduran Congress that law enforcement had the manpower to investigate only about 20 percent of the nation’s murders, and that therefore the remaining 80 percent were certain to go unpunished. In Honduras (as in other Central American countries) being a sicario—a contract killer—is a real profession: in the morning you wake up and wait for a call asking you to commit a murder, for which you’ll be paid more than you could hope to make at any other job.

This is what people are fleeing from, this landscape that seems to offer no future but killing or being killed. Despite their varied histories, the migrants all have in common the desire—or rather the need—to escape the violence of the drug gangs and the lack of work and opportunity in their country.

It’s 2,700 miles from San Pedro Sula to Tijuana on the US–Mexico border, and with every mile the caravan grew, eventually swelling to about 10,000 people. The head of the caravan—which was several days ahead of the tail—reached the US border in mid-November. Large camps began forming in Tijuana and Mexicali, with thousands of refugees crowding into tents, waiting to be allowed to cross the border. It looked like there would be a very long wait, since—due to a new Trump administration policy—no one would be admitted to the United States prior to a hearing at an immigration court.

Faced with the prospect of remaining in that precarious limbo for weeks, perhaps months, some migrants tried to cross the border illegally, others sought asylum in Mexico, and still others gave up and turned around. According to data from the Mexican authorities reported by the Associated Press, 1,300 migrants returned to Central America; another 2,900 received humanitarian visas from Mexico and now live there legally, with the chance to look for work (which many have already found); and 2,600 were arrested by the US Border Patrol in the San Diego area alone for crossing illegally. As of mid-January, hundreds—it’s hard to know exact numbers—were still gathered at the border, hoping to enter the United States.

The caravan had many children in it, including disabled children seeking treatment in the United States. Juan Alberto Matheu, for example, traveled thousands of miles with his daughter Lesley, who has been confined to a wheelchair since having a stroke at the age of two. At every stage of the journey, he sought out washbasins to bathe her. After reaching Tijuana and spending three weeks in a refugee camp, he eventually managed—with the help of the Minority Humanitarian Foundation—to enter the US with Lesley. After four days in ICE custody, they were released, and he was finally able to take his daughter to a hospital.

Jakelin Caal Maquin, age seven, was healthy when she left Raxruhá, Guatemala, with her father, Nery Gilberto Caal Cuz. On the evening of December 6, both were arrested, along with 161 other migrants, by the US border patrol in New Mexico, after illegally crossing the border. A few hours later, while in the custody of American border agents, Jakelin began suffering from a high fever and seizures; she was taken by helicopter to a hospital, where she died the next day from septic shock, dehydration, and liver failure. She had traveled two thousand miles, crossing the Mexican desert, enduring weeks of exhaustion and hardship to reach the US, because she knew that beyond its border she could hope for something better than the future her own country offered. She died in the very place she could have begun a new life.

Jakelin was not the first migrant child to lose her life in the United States after arriving with a caravan. In May 2018 Mariee Juárez, only twenty months old, died after being held in a detention center in Dilley, Texas. Also from Guatemala, she too entered the United States illegally, crossing the Rio Grande with her mother, Yasmin. According to Yasmin, after they were arrested and put in the detention center on March 5, sharing a single room with five mothers and their own children (several of whom were already sick), Mariee developed a cough and a high fever and kept losing weight. On March 25 they were released, and Yasmin took her daughter to the hospital, where she was diagnosed with pneumonia, adenovirus, and parainfluenza. She died six weeks later.

saviano is an italian journalist whose book gamorrah was turned into the film of the same name

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havekiddoswilltravel · 5 years

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Everyday Black History: Educational Guide to Incorporating Black History into your Homeschool Year-round

February is Black History Month and I would love to encourage all educators, parents and adults in general to incorporate these best practices into their daily lives throughout the year. My definition of educator is very broad. If you have a sphere of influence to speak into the lives of future generations, then you’re an educator as far as I’m concerned. I believe in intentional education and thus we should never limit an entire group’s history and contributions to 28 days.

- Be intentional in your read alouds, independent reading and book list choices. Make sure that you incorporate books that provide a well rounded perspective on history, literature, geography, language arts and even math.

- Diversify your homeschool social media feed. Connect with, read works by and learn best practices from other homeschooling parents and educators of colors.

1. Follow My Reflections Matter and incorporate their diverse resources to your educational plans.

2. Check out Negra Bohemian a self described: a free spirit redefining motherhood through a socially conscious, faith-led and wandering lifestyle.

3. Check out Trippin’ Momma to be inspired by a single mother who’s recovered from domestic violence and is exploring the world on her own terms.

4. Follow Dr. Kira Bank and her work on Raising Equity.

5. Follow my friend Sarah’s adventures in her blog and be inspired to take adventurous trips with your kids to destinations like Dubai, Hong Kong and Kenya.

6. Follow The Spring Break Family and be encouraged to take adventures with our kids even if they’re not homeschooled.

7. Check out Our Kitchen Classroom and learn how to connect food with culture - travel.

If your a Christian, read this: No Days Off...

“This February, lay down the burden of ambassadorship and let Black History Month be your swimming lessons. May it be a reminder that each stroke forward transforms our weaknesses into strengths, powerlessness into purpose. We’re not treading water. Kingdom ambassadors make new wave moves. Look back and see how God is moving us forward.”

Additional resources Click on bold sections for more information:

- Learn about Racial Identity from Dr. Beverly Daniel Tatum.

https://youtu.be/l_TFaS3KW6s

- Check out 100 Read Aloud Books for Black History and Beyond.

- 30 People from Around the World.

- Learn the truth about the Green Book by watching this documentary.

- Have your preconceived notions rocked by A blessed Heritage’s writings on faith and black history.

- Host a Black Living History Wax Musuem event at your school, home or community.

- Black History is American History.

- Race: The Power of Illusion.

- Read about why Martin Luther King JR. Day is not a day off and start planning your service project for next January.

- Why we shouldn’t forget that U.S. presidents owned slaves.

Published on Feb 2, 2017

"When you sing that this country was founded on freedom, don’t forget the duet of shackles dragging against the ground my entire life." This how poet Clint Smith begins his letter to past presidents who owned slaves. In honor of Black History Month, Smith offers his Brief But Spectacular take on the history of racial inequality in the U.S.

Learn about the musical, historical and African roots of Puerto Rico’s Bomba.

- Watch online Eyes on the Prize: America's Civil Rights Movement.

- 28 Ways to Celebrate Black History Month by the NAACP.

- Watch and be inspired by: Black Made That.

- Meet The Fearless Cook Who Secretly Fed — And Funded — The Civil Rights Movement.

- Watch Kevin Hart’s Guide to Black History on Netflix.

- Check out Wu-Tang Clan's GZA shows his genius in Liquid Science on Netflix.

- Add diverse puzzles by Puzzle Huddle to your bookcases.

- Decolonize your family bookshelves and learn more about awareness by following The Consious Kid.

- 28 More Black Picture Books That Aren’t About Boycotts, Buses or Basketball (2018).

- 5 Reasons You Should Celebrate Black History Month.

- Beyond The Painful Chains Of Slavery: Phillis Wheatley, The First Published Female African-American Poet.

- Continue learning throughout the year with various subscription options of the Because of Them we Can boxes.

- Check out Black Then for a wealth of information.

- Check out Story Corps:

StoryCorps’ mission is to preserve and share humanity’s stories in order to build connections between people and create a more just and compassionate world.

- Diversify your podcasts. A friend sent me this pod cast and I had to share: Black and White: Racism in America.

Exposure to Black Theater and Arts.

- Check out my review of Hamilton.

- Go watch Black Violin.

- Go see Alvin Ailey - American Dance Theater.

- Diversify your holiday traditions and enjoy the Hip Hop Nutcracker or the Urban Nutcracker.

- Exposure to the history and sounds of Gospel music.

- Singin’ Us to Glory: The Life and Legacy of Fannie Lou Hamer.

- Black History Month is a chance for white parents to learn how to talk about racism.

Pin for later:

- Incorporate Black History Sites into your family travel. This has been a huge way for us to incorporate our story into our learning. These are some of our favorites or ones on our bucket list:

1. National Museum of African American History and Culture in Washington, DC.

You can read more about my family’s trip to this history packed museum by clicking here.

2. The Tuskegee Airman National Historical Museum in Detroit, Michigan.

3. The National Underground Freedom Center in Cincinnati, Ohio.

You can read more about my family’s road trip to the freedom center by clicking here.

4. Frederick Douglass National Historical Park in Washington, DC.

5. International Civil Rights Center and Museum in Greensboro, NC.

6. Martin Luther King, JR Memorial in Washington, DC.

7. Negro League Baseball Museum in Kansas City, MO.

8. Museum of African American History in Boston, MA.

9. North Star Underground Railroad Museum in Ausable Chasm, NY.

10. Visit Martha’s Vineyard and learn about the Polar Bears.

- Check out this blog post with a large list of destinations to include in your Black History Travel Bucket List: Must See Destinations to Learn About Black History.

- Study the history of Soul Food and host a Soul Food Feast for family and friends.

The Soul Food Born of the Harlem Renaissance.

Read An Illustrated History of Soul Food with your kids.

This is a great video of the celebrates African American food and chefs.

- Teach the history of the Harlem Globetrotters and then enjoy a game.

- Take a #foodies road trip to some of America’s top Soul Food Restaurants which are full of history, music and culture.

1. Sylvia’s Restaurant in Harlem, NY.

2. Amy Ruth’s in NYC.

3. Luella’s Southern Kitchen in Chicago, IL.

4. The Coast Cafe in Cambridge, MA.

5. Roscoes Chicken and Waffles in Los Angeles, CA.

6. Busy Bee Cafe in Atlanta, GA.

- Provide opportunities for your students to read, memorize and recite black poetry. Some of our favorites are.

Let America Be America Again

Langston Hughes, 1902 - 1967

Let America be America again. Let it be the dream it used to be. Let it be the pioneer on the plain Seeking a home where he himself is free. (America never was America to me.) Let America be the dream the dreamers dreamed— Let it be that great strong land of love Where never kings connive nor tyrants scheme That any man be crushed by one above. (It never was America to me.) O, let my land be a land where Liberty Is crowned with no false patriotic wreath, But opportunity is real, and life is free, Equality is in the air we breathe. (There’s never been equality for me, Nor freedom in this “homeland of the free.”) Say, who are you that mumbles in the dark? And who are you that draws your veil across the stars? I am the poor white, fooled and pushed apart, I am the Negro bearing slavery’s scars. I am the red man driven from the land, I am the immigrant clutching the hope I seek— And finding only the same old stupid plan Of dog eat dog, of mighty crush the weak. I am the young man, full of strength and hope, Tangled in that ancient endless chain Of profit, power, gain, of grab the land! Of grab the gold! Of grab the ways of satisfying need! Of work the men! Of take the pay! Of owning everything for one’s own greed! I am the farmer, bondsman to the soil. I am the worker sold to the machine. I am the Negro, servant to you all. I am the people, humble, hungry, mean— Hungry yet today despite the dream. Beaten yet today—O, Pioneers! I am the man who never got ahead, The poorest worker bartered through the years. Yet I’m the one who dreamt our basic dream In the Old World while still a serf of kings, Who dreamt a dream so strong, so brave, so true, That even yet its mighty daring sings In every brick and stone, in every furrow turned That’s made America the land it has become. O, I’m the man who sailed those early seas In search of what I meant to be my home— For I’m the one who left dark Ireland’s shore, And Poland’s plain, and England’s grassy lea, And torn from Black Africa’s strand I came To build a “homeland of the free.” The free? Who said the free? Not me? Surely not me? The millions on relief today? The millions shot down when we strike? The millions who have nothing for our pay? For all the dreams we’ve dreamed And all the songs we’ve sung And all the hopes we’ve held And all the flags we’ve hung, The millions who have nothing for our pay— Except the dream that’s almost dead today. O, let America be America again— The land that never has been yet— And yet must be—the land where every man is free. The land that’s mine—the poor man’s, Indian’s, Negro’s, ME— Who made America, Whose sweat and blood, whose faith and pain, Whose hand at the foundry, whose plow in the rain, Must bring back our mighty dream again. Sure, call me any ugly name you choose— The steel of freedom does not stain. From those who live like leeches on the people’s lives, We must take back our land again, America! O, yes, I say it plain, America never was America to me, And yet I swear this oath— America will be! Out of the rack and ruin of our gangster death, The rape and rot of graft, and stealth, and lies, We, the people, must redeem The land, the mines, the plants, the rivers. The mountains and the endless plain— All, all the stretch of these great green states— And make America again!

Still I Rise

Maya Angelou, 1928 - 2014

You may write me down in history With your bitter, twisted lies, You may trod me in the very dirt But still, like dust, I’ll rise. Does my sassiness upset you? Why are you beset with gloom? ‘Cause I walk like I’ve got oil wells Pumping in my living room. Just like moons and like suns, With the certainty of tides, Just like hopes springing high, Still I’ll rise. Did you want to see me broken? Bowed head and lowered eyes? Shoulders falling down like teardrops, Weakened by my soulful cries? Does my haughtiness offend you? Don’t you take it awful hard ‘Cause I laugh like I’ve got gold mines Diggin’ in my own backyard. You may shoot me with your words, You may cut me with your eyes, You may kill me with your hatefulness, But still, like air, I’ll rise. Does my sexiness upset you? Does it come as a surprise That I dance like I’ve got diamonds At the meeting of my thighs? Out of the huts of history’s shame I rise Up from a past that’s rooted in pain I rise I’m a black ocean, leaping and wide, Welling and swelling I bear in the tide. Leaving behind nights of terror and fear I rise Into a daybreak that’s wondrously clear I rise Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave, I am the dream and the hope of the slave. I rise I rise I rise.

Lift Every Voice and Sing

James Weldon Johnson, 1871 - 1938

Lift every voice and sing, Till earth and heaven ring, Ring with the harmonies of Liberty; Let our rejoicing rise High as the list’ning skies, Let it resound loud as the rolling sea. Sing a song full of the faith that the dark past has taught us, Sing a song full of the hope that the present has brought us; Facing the rising sun of our new day begun, Let us march on till victory is won. Stony the road we trod, Bitter the chast’ning rod, Felt in the days when hope unborn had died; Yet with a steady beat, Have not our weary feet Come to the place for which our fathers sighed? We have come over a way that with tears has been watered. We have come, treading our path through the blood of the slaughtered, Out from the gloomy past, Till now we stand at last Where the white gleam of our bright star is cast. God of our weary years, God of our silent tears, Thou who hast brought us thus far on the way; Thou who hast by Thy might, Led us into the light, Keep us forever in the path, we pray. Lest our feet stray from the places, our God, where we met Thee, Lest our hearts, drunk with the wine of the world, we forget Thee; Shadowed beneath Thy hand, May we forever stand, True to our God, True to our native land.

From Saint Peter Relates an Incident by James Weldon Johnson. Copyright © 1917, 1921, 1935 James Weldon Johnson, renewed 1963 by Grace Nail Johnson. Used by permission of Viking Penguin, a division of Penguin Books USA Inc.

Dreams

Langston Hughes, 1902 - 1967

Hold fast to dreams For if dreams die Life is a broken-winged bird That cannot fly. Hold fast to dreams For when dreams go Life is a barren field Frozen with snow.

From The Collected Poems of Langston Hughes published by Alfred A. Knopf/Vintage. Copyright © 1994 by the Estate of Langston Hughes. Reprinted by permission of Harold Ober Associates Incorporated. All rights reserved.

About Ruth: I’m a wife and mami of 4 active and globe-trotting kiddos. I’ve always loved a good adventure and truly believe that it’s possible to travel with kids. Join me, as I share our adventures and inspire you to get out of the house with your kiddos. Whether you’re planning a family vacation, a road trip or a trip of a lifetime to an exotic destination, I’ll share insights, trip reports and information that will inspire you. Check back often to stay up to date on things to do with kids at your next travel destination.

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perfectirishgifts · 3 years

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High Price, Limited Performance Of European Electric Cars Might Boost China Minis

New Post has been published on https://perfectirishgifts.com/high-price-limited-performance-of-european-electric-cars-might-boost-china-minis/

High Price, Limited Performance Of European Electric Cars Might Boost China Minis

Wuling Hong Guang Mini EV

The high price of so-called “affordable” electric vehicles in Europe and their often pitiful highway cruising performance might make some hard-up buyers grit their teeth, admit the unthinkable and opt for a mini battery-powered vehicle because the alternative is a scooter, a bike, or even worse, the tube or bus.

And the possibility of a cheap but limited little electric car might well lead to dancing in the streets in Europe’s poorest countries, which have so far been left out of the electric revolution.

The cheapest electric vehicles like the Renault Zoe, and upcoming offerings like the Fiat 500E and perhaps the expected Volkswagen ID.2, start at around €20,000 ($24,300 after tax). That’s about twice the price of an entry-level gasoline-powered car, which might not even be available by 2030. EU CO2 rules, and even outright bans, threaten cheap traditional cars. Small electric cars and SUVs like the Vauxhall/Opel Corsa and the MG ZS EV cost from around €30,000 ($36,500). These vehicles all come with impressive claims for range, which suddenly dissolve when the vehicle is asked to undertake a highway journey at normal cruising speeds.

The speed limit across Europe is mainly 130 km/h, about 80 mph, and this is the accepted legal cruising mode on many highways, except of course in Germany where there are still long sections with no speed limit. You will see every type of sedan and SUV, from the cheapest to most expensive cruising at around 80. But the impact on available mileage at these speeds on battery electric vehicles (BEV) is catastrophic. Often you will lose miles at twice the rate or more of the actual miles being travelled.

So these “affordable” cars aren’t the equivalent of regular gasoline or diesel powered cars. They are fantastic city cars, but very expensive considering their limited ability. Suddenly a small car like the Wuling Hong Guang Mini EV from China makes lots of sense. It can reach about 60 mph, probably downhill with a following wind, but quite adequate in town and country driving. Base models have a range of about 70 miles. You can make an average daily commute, said to be about 24 miles in Europe, do the shopping and take the children to school. If you’re not convinced yet, try this. The base price is $4,400. That number will be enough for many Europeans with average earnings to swallow their pride. And there won’t be much of that because the little Hong Guang Mini EV looks cute and believable.

Hong Guang Mini EV

That’s the price now in China and it’s likely to be a bit more expensive if it came to Europe, but will still probably be popular in eastern Europe.

Groupe PSA of France’s Citroen is about to launch its cheap and cute little Ami, electric city car, although this in its initial form is too slow (28 mph), has only 2 seats, a range of 43 miles, and costs €6,000 ($7,300).

The idea that small is the answer isn’t exciting some European analysts.

“We don’t see a switch by European carmakers into making these little electric cars happening,” said Viktor Irle, Stockholm, Sweden-based analyst with consultancy EV-volumes.

Irle said small cars like this won’t be profitable.

That’s probably true of traditional European manufacturers, but likely not Chinese ones.

“The Citroen Ami will not be a big seller. Europeans want a car – not two – that gives them flexibility. If you have a small car, unable to go on highways, the use is very limited. Big cities like Paris, Berlin and Rome could see some sales of these. Generally, car buyers move up in segments. So Ami is likely going to replace scooters and mopeds and motorcycles in our analysis,” Irle said.

But this assumes that “affordable” electric cars can match gasoline or diesel cars on the highway, and that isn’t the case in my experience. It remains to be seen if the latest electric cars, like the Volkswagen ID.3, perform adequately at motorway cruising speeds.

IHS Markit auto analyst Ian Fletcher doesn’t see a shift downmarket either.

“Volumes of traditional (city car) segment vehicles have been retreating anyway. (Manufacturers) have been pulling out or reducing their exposure to this category and we see this continuing. This is partly related to the difficulty making the financials stack up compared to something larger, and recently this has not been helped by meeting new regulations in the (EU) region, particularly those for (CO2) emissions. Customers are also less interested buying something of this size as well,” Fletcher said.

Fletcher said IHS Markit predicts city cars will make up just over 1% of the European market in 2025, and just under 2% by 2030.

Fletcher reckons price won’t be a factor because leasing plans make new cars more affordable. Sales growth will come from electrifying small and medium sized family cars.

Citroen Ami is a quadricycle and can be driven without a license in France from the age of 14. … [] (Photo by Abdulmonam Eassa/Getty Images)

“We see far greater BEV volume growth in (VW Polo and VW Golf equivalent) segments, which are the biggest by volume currently anyway. By 2025, B segment BEVs will be around 6.5% of the entire market and 9.5% by 2030, while C segment BEVs will be around 7% and 12.5%, respectively. Obviously, there is an argument with regards to the purchase cost, but I think fewer and fewer people are looking at that now. It is more about the affordability on a monthly basis through a leasing plan or similar,” Fletcher said.

But the Hong Guang Mini EV has a been a remarkable success so far in China, which of course won’t necessarily translate to Europe.

“This new battery electric vehicle has taken the (Chinese) market by storm, breaking all sales expectations since its launch,” said LMC Automotive analyst Alan Kang.

The Hong Guang Mini EV, is a two-door micro electric vehicle launched by a joint venture between General Motors GM and SAIC.

“The diminutive model’s eye-catching design gives it a deceptively expensive look, something that has undoubtedly contributed to its surprisingly robust performance. In September, only its 4th month on the market, the Hong Guang Mini EV racked up sales in excess of 20,000, propelling it to the top of China’s electric vehicle market,” Kang said.

“A range choice of between (70 and 100 miles) is more than adequate for the needs of its target audience. And less powerful battery translates to a lower sticker price,” Kang said.

In a recent interview, David Bailey, Professor of Business Economics at the Birmingham Business School, said he believes a serious threat from China is likely in this segment and Europeans must gear up to meet it.

How Mini cars used to be. BMW Isetta. Photo: Sina Schuldt/dpa (Photo by Sina Schuldt/picture … [] alliance via Getty Images)

“European manufacturers certainly need to embrace this niche or face being wiped out in this segment by super low-cost Chinese brands when the latter can meet European crash safety standards,” Bailey said.

LMC Automotive’s Kang agrees.

“I am not sure whether Hong Guang Mini EV will go to the Europe market now, for I don’t know whether the model can meet the regulations and standards of Europe market. But I agree with you that such little mini EVs with cheap prices but good design might also be welcome in the European market, if they can meet the regulations and keep same low price at the same time. It would be just a commuting tool, that does everything you need to commute, shop and take the kids to school, as you said,” according to Kang.

Germans and relatively well-off western Europeans might be tempted to scoff at these limited little electric vehicles, but in the east they may well be seen as a godsend. According to a survey by the European Automobile Manufacturers association, known by its French acronym ACEA, in the world of electric car ownership there is a deep divide between the haves and have-nots. ACEA said in 2019, 3% of new cars sold across the EU were electrically-chargeable, but the comparison between rich and poor, east and west was stark. The poorest GDP per head country was Estonia at €21,160 ($25,652) had an electrically-chargeable car market share of 0.3%. The richest, Germany (€41,510-$50,332) had a 3.0% market share.

1. Estonia – 0.3% (GDP of €21,160)

2. Lithuania – 0.4% (GDP of €17,340)

3. Slovakia �� 0.4% (GDP of €17,270)

4. Greece – 0.4% (GDP of €17,500)

5. Poland – 0.5% (GDP of €13,780)

1. Germany – 3.0% (GDP of €41,510)

2. United Kingdom – 3.1% (GDP of €37,780)

3. France – 2.8% (GDP of €35,960)

4. Italy – 0.9% (GDP of €29,610)

5. Spain – 1.4% ECVs (GDP of €26,440)

(Source-ACEA)

No doubt Chinese manufacturers have already figured this out and will be cranking up sales campaigns in Tallinn, Vilnius, Bratislava, Athens and Warsaw.

From Transportation in Perfectirishgifts

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